:^^' 



":K 



l!lM : ^^^' ^^ 



^ 



'%^'^yiWl s 



^^% 



- .0^ 



« ^/. ^ ^ X 




'^, ^^'^ ~^~>(f^^: 







"Ca . ■^ ,<? ?? * . atS 






o 0^ 






^ {? >i 






\.^?:.^^;s^' 






.^^^ 



'% * H 



\ 



^' «^te\^ 















<^ 



iJ^ - 



,0o 



-oc^ 



? ^v 



.^ 



-^ ^. ''fe.,,^. 



> .^^"^^ 












^^/ 


\. - 






: ■^:^' 






*• 


■* ^aO 




y- 






.\ 




'*> 






' . 




V*' 






o"< 


oo" 




'- 


: _ _/ ^ - 


S^a 






, 








^^>' 

•%/■; 




^. 




.^^'' 




o 


'~/ 






<> 


'v-* 










f 




^ 


■'o 


0^ 






^^.- 


c^^ 





,•; -r.. vOo^. 



MATINS AND VESPERS^ 



HYMNS 1^ 



OCCASIONAL DEVOTIONAL PIECES. 



5rV JOHN BOWRING. 



FIRST AMERICAN FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION. 



BOSTON : 

HIL.LIARD, GRAY, LITTLE, AND WILKINS. 



1827. 







M 



CAMBRIDGE. 

University Press. — Hilliard, IVktcilf, & Co. 



TO Mrs. BARBAULD. 

rnou hast heard many voices hymning thee, 
Who didst awake their purest, earUest strains ; 
Flowing hke minghng rivulets o'er the plains, 
They water— till they reach the mighty sea 
Where time is blended with eternity. 
The current of thy years— which age has crown'd 
With hoary honours, and ripe harvests round, 
Say, may it drink some gentle dews from me 
Of grateful song ?— I was in childhood young 
And artless, when to my dim vision thou 
Wert as a saint, — and from thy gentle tongue 
I oft have heard such truths, such thoughts, as wrung 
Tears of delight from infancy — and now 
Round thee affection hath with reverence clung. 

J. B. 



PREFACE. 

Those Who are acquainted with a little volume writ- 
ten by Dr. Witschel, entitled Morgen und Abend 
Opfer, which has passed through several editions in 
Germany, will see how largely I have been indebted to 
it. It first suggested the idea, that a similar collection 
might serve the cause of religion and virtue at home. 

So much of serene and so much of joyful feeling, so 
much of calm and grateful recollection, so much of pre- 
sent peace and comfort, and so much of holy and trans- 
porting hope, are connected with the cultivation of the 
devotional spirit, — that to assist its exercises, to admin- 
ister to its wants, and to accompany its heavenly aspira- 
tions, are objects worthy of the noblest, the best ambi- 
tion. 

In attempting to give some of the ornaments of song 
to such contemplations, and such expressions as become 
those who have formed a true estimate of life, and of the 
ends of living, I trust I have never forgotten that the 
substance of piety is of higher interest than any of its 
decorations, — that the presence of truth is of more 
importance than the garment it weare. 

A* 



Vl PREFACE. 

I have often witnessed, with complacency and delight, 
the consoling influence produced by the recollection of 
some passage of devotional poetry, under circumstances 
the most disheartening and sufferings the most oppres- 
sive. tShould any fragment of this little book, remem- 
bered and dwelt upon in moments of gloom and anxiety, 
tend to restore peace, to awaken fortitude, to renew or 
to create confidence in Heaven, I shall have obtained 
the boon for which I pray, — the end to which I aspire. 

These Hymns were not written in the pursuit of fame 
or literary triumph. They are full of borrowed images, 
of thoughts and feeling excited less by my own contem- 
plations than by the writings of others. I have not 
sought to be original. To be useful is my first ambition 
—that obtained, I am indifferent to the rest. 



PREFACE 



THE SECOND EDITION. 

It has been suggested that the usefulness of this 
volume may be much increased by its publication in a 
form which will make it more accessible, and perhaps 
in consequence acceptable, to a very large class of soci- 
ety. All good is important in proportion to the sphere 
in which it acts — in proportion to its extent and to its 
intensity. The man who labours for the fev/ where he 
might benefit the many, mistakes his vocation. He 
who confers the greatest sum of good on the greatest 
number of human beings, is the greatest benefactor of 
his species. Mine is a humble effort — I rejoice that it 
has been crowned with some success. May the blessing 
of Heaven go with it on its forward way ! 

J. B. 

January^ 1824. 



CONTENTS. 



MATINS AND VESPERS. 

Fjrst Week Spring pp .11 — 54 

Second Week Sdmjier 55 — 98 

Third Week Autumn 99 — 142 

Fourth Week Winter 143—182 



HYMNS AND OTHER DEVOTIONAL PIECES. 

Night— from the German of Herder p* 185 

Morning Thoughts 189 

Evening Thoughts on Death 193 

Written at Sea 197 

" The World is given to the Wicked " 200 

Psalm xc 202 

Habakkuk, chap, iii 205 

1 Corinthians, chap, xiii 208 

Anxieties and Comforts 210 

Siste, Viator ! 214 



X CONTENTS. 

Blessings of Instruction p. 218 

Sonnet 221 

Hymns 222—224 

Death 225 

Hymns . 227—234 

Hymn to the Deity 235 

An Aspiration 237 

Sonnet of Pellegrino Gaudenzi's 238 

Sonnet of Salvini's— God 239 

Hymns : . . 240, 241 

To a Violet 242 

Hymns 243, 244 

Persecution 245 

Retirement 247 

Sonnets 248—250 

Saturday Ni^ht 251 



FIRST WEEK. 
SPRING. 



14 SUNDAY MORNING. 

A peace which none but Thou couldst give inspires 

My bosom ; heavenly aspiration fires 

My towering thoughts. O God ! what breath but 

Thine 
Could kindle aspirations so divine ! 
Benignant condescension ! that Thy ray 
Should send its brightness through a clod of clay, 
And raise to Thy abode — to Heaven — to Thee — 
The poor, weak children of mortality ! 
Thus privileged, let my spirit-rousing thought, 
Which vainly seeks to praise Thee as it ought. 
Pour forth its humble strains. Eternal Lord ! 
Thy majesty might crush the embryo-w^ord 
With its gigantic presence ; but Thy love 
Gives it a voice, and wafts its tones above. 
Grant me. Eternal One ! Thy light to cheer. 
Thy hand to guide me, while I journey here ; 
Thy grace to help, Thy peace my soul to fill. 
And sorrow's storm may thunder if it will. 
I am supported by Thy holy arm — 
The cloud may burst — but O, it cannot harm. 

I say not, " Shield me, Father, from distress," 
But, " Wake my heart to truth and holiness." 
I ask not that my earthly course may run 
Cloudless — but, humbly, " Let Thy will be done." 
The peace the world can give not nor destroy, 
The love which is the greatest, and the joy 



SUNDAY EVENING. 15 

That 's given to angels — to perceive and own 

That all Thy will is light and truth alone 

And bliss-producing ; — these, and such as these, 

Be mine ; — the vain world's fleeting vanities — 

Pomps, pleasures, riches, honours, glory, pride, 

(Idols by man's perverseness deified,) 

I envy not. — Do Thou my steps control — 

Erect devotion's temple in my soul ; 

And there, my God ! my King ! mirivall'd sway : 

So let existence, like a sabbath day, 

Glide softly by, and let that temple be 

A shrine devoted all to truth and Thee. 



SUNDAY EVENING. 

How shall I praise Thee, Lord of light t 
How all Thy generous love declare ? 
Though earth is veil'd in shades of night, 
Thy heaven is open to my prayer ; 
That heaven, so bright with stars and suns — 
That glorious heaven, which knows no bound ; 
Where die full tide of being runs. 
And life and beauty glow around ; 



16 SUNDAY EVENING. 

From thence — Thy seat of light divine, 
Circled by thousand streams of bliss 
Which calmly flow and brightly shine — 
Say, to a world so mean as this, 
Canst Thou direct Thy pitying eye ? 
How shall my thoughts expression find, 
All lost in thine immensity ? 
How shall 1 seek, Eternal mind, 
Thy holy presence ? God sublime. 
Whose power and wisdom, love and grace. 
Are greater than the round of time, 
And wider than the bounds of space ! 
Gently the shades of night descend ; 
Thy temple, Lord ! is calm and still ; 
A thousand lamps of ether blend, 
A thousand fires that temple fill. 
To honour Thee ; — 'tis bright and fair, 
As if the very heavens, imprest 
Widi Thy pure image smiling there, 
In all their loveliest robes were drest. 
Yet Thou canst turn Thy friendly eye 
From that immeasurable throne ; — 
Thou, smiling on humanity, 
Dost claim earth's children for Thine own, 
And gently, kindly lead them through 
Life's varied scenes of joy and gloom : 



SUNDAY EVENING, 17 

Till evening's pale and pearly dew 

Tips the green sod that decks their tomb. 

Thou, Father ! hast a gentle breath 
That bears our soaring souls on high ; 
Thy angels watch the bed of death, 
Thy torch directs us to the sky. 
Thou bidst the cares of earth depart — 
Heaven's peace is wafted from above ; 
A sabbath-stillness fills my heart — 
Devotion's calm, and virtue's love. 
Thy laws with rays divine illume ; 
Sweet is Thy call, Thy burthen light, 
Thy words like heavenly music come, 
Thy promise like a seraph bright. 
And Thou, from Thy sublimest height 
Of glory — in Thy mercy deignest 
Earth-wandering pilgrims to invite 
Tow'rds the blest palace where Thou reignest. 
And man — a speck of dust — may rise. 
Borne on the pinions of Thy grace, 
Up to angelic mysteries : 
Heaven is his home — his resting-place. 

Even as the seed that autumn's breath 
On to its destined dwelling bears. 
Springs from its earthly tomb beneath. 
And its fair crown of beauty rears : 



18 SUNDAY EVENING, 

Mortality itself contains 

The germ of immortality, 

And bursts life's cold and fettering chain?, 

Rising from mortal bondage free. 

Not ours alone a varying doom, 

Checker'd with fleeting joys and cares ; 

For us the portals of the tomb 

Lead onward to eternal years. 

When trembling on the awful bourn 
Which bounds life's transitory stage. 
Tranquil my dying thoughts shall turn 
Back on the well-spent pilgrimage : 
While visions, robed in glory bright, 
Beam through life's evening-shades serene, 
From heaven's eternal isles of light ; 
What though the waters roll between ^ 
The arm that oft hath saved, shall save ; 
' Death has no terrors now for me — 
Where is thy sting, O where, thou grave ? 
O death ! where is thy victory ? 
Methinks I see the flow'rets bloom 
Even now on Eden's vernal shore ; 
Methinks 1 feel the breezes come 
To waft th' enfranchised prisoner o'er — 
Methinks a light, as soft, as sweet. 
Smiles on me as the pale moon's ray 5 



MONDAY MORNING. 19 

INIethinks I hear the angels greet, 

" Come hither, Spirit, come ! " — they say, 

I hasten : as my eye grows dim 

And darkens on this fading sphere, 

1 see the smiling seraphim 

Wax more and more resplendent there ; 

And as ray ear grows deaf and dull 

To the vain sounds of earthly art, 

The music, soft and beautiful. 

Of heaven absorbs my raptured heart. 



MONDAY MORNING. 

Thou, Lord ! art all in all — and man is nought : 
For though in privileged hours his soaring thought 
Would seem to catch a glance of Thee — Thy light 
Soon becomes dazzling, and he sinks in night. 
Yes ! we are blind — and w^hen we most aspire, 
Most feel our weakness and our vain desire. 
W^e trace the comets in their orbits — fly 
From star to star, across the crowded sky, 
And, far beyond what natural powers discern, 
Guided by art, we nature's mysteries learn : 
But when we think of Thee — confounded, lost, 
From one proud billow to another tost, 



20 MONDAY MORNING. 

Our reason wreck'd — the horizon shaded o'er, 
We dash upon a dark and dangerous shore. 

What art Thou, Lord ? By what high name — 
what word 
Of majesty, shall we address Thee, Lord f 
God ! awful sound — recess of mystery ! 
God ! what strange notions of infinity, 
Infinity of wisdom, power, and love, 
Through the still'd heart in shadowy visions move — 
Link'd with all space, all being, deep and vast : 
'Tis a vague sense of future and of past — 
Of things beyond the stars — of death — of birth — 
Of a wing'd Spirit wandering o'er the earth — 
Travelling from sun to sun — of whispering wind — 
Of thunder — of a more than mortal mind, 
That sometimes visits man : — a rolling flood 
Invisible — an infinite tide of good, 
O'erflowing all — a presence in the air. 
Upon the land, the waters, every where ! 
God ! God ! word written on the waves — imprest 
Upon fair Nature's universal breast, — 
Wafted by every breeze, and borne along 
By every motion that has sense or song — 
Splendent above, and beautiful below, 
The soul of all the universe art Thou ! 

We find Thee there — we revel in the thought — 
Forgive the daring, Lord ! we know thee not. 



MONDAY EVENING. 21 

When man has scaled the heavens, and weigh'd the 

sun, 
And visited the stars — then. Infinite One ! 
Then may he, then, though still unworthily, 
Lift up his thoughts and turn his eyes to Thee ; 
To Thee, whose glorious brightness human eye 
Ne'er gazed on yet in its intensity. 

God ! I tremble when on Thee I think ; 

1 feel, as if I shudder'd on the brink 

Of profanation — yet I love Thee : — read 
My doubting, fearing heart — it loves indeed ! 
Loves, and would fain obey — O touch the chord 
That vibrates at Thy name, — and tune it. Lord ! 
To reverence and to virtue : — all beside — 
The vain desires of folly or of pride — 
All, ail I throw, an offering at Thy feet — 
Accept that homage, Being Infinite I 



MONDAY EVENING. 

My eye look'd round upon the vast expanse 
Of glorious Nature — and my raptured vision, 
Revelling in the early day-beams' waken'd glance, 
Saw rocks, and streams, and woods — hke scenes 
elysian, 



22 MONDAY EVENING. 

Uncurtain'd slowly from the realms of sleep : 

There the sun drove his golden chariot proudly, 

And the sonorous ocean thunder'd loudly, 

What time the waters rushing down the steep 

Lifted their voice harmonious — every where 

The spirit of love was brooding — and the smile 

Of vernal freshness and of beauty rare : 

There was a gentle music in the air, 

That hung around the mist-robed mountains, while 

A calm and quiet influence seem'd to breathe 

In fragrance o'er the vales and on the hills : 

The dews had hung up many a diamond wreath 

On herbs and budding flowers — and the meek rills 

Trembled at morning's first salute, and thrill'd 

And murmur'd joy. — Slowly and silently 

The vapours which the bosom of earth had fiU'd 

Melted away in light ! — the all-present eye 

Of heaven beam'd brightly : and methought the day 

Look'd beautiful as when an infant wakes 

From its soft slumbers — and in every ray 

I traced the visible presence — dark and dim — 

But still the presence visible of Him, 

At whose first call the early morning breaks 

Through twilight's curtain. — Higher yet, and higher, 

Rose the great central orb above our globe, 

Till heaven was girded with one azure robe, 

And none could look upon that throne of fire, 



MONDAY EVENING. 23 

On wblch perchance some spirit sits, and keeps 
An awful reckoning with our earthly sphere : 
For the Great Eye that sees us never sleeps ; 
It has its ministering angels wheresoe'er 
Existence is — beneath us, and above. 
Around us and within us, He has there 
His delegates. They watch us when we rove, 
And to the oft-abandon'd, narrow track 
Of truth and virtue, gently call us back : 
They read our thoughts — our actions they record, 
And bear the transcript of each idle word 
Up to the great tribunal. — Now the Noon, 
Wearied with sultry toil, declines and falls 
Into the mellow Eve : — the West puts on 
Her gorgeous beauties — palaces and halls 
And towers, all carved of the unstable cloud, 
Welcome the calmly waning monarch — he 
Sinks gently 'midst that glorious canopy 
Down on his couch of rest — even like a proud 
Monarch of earth and ocean. — He being gone. 
All his attendant ministers take their flight. 
And leave the dark and desolate Earth alone — 
To all the gloom and horror of the Night. 
But no ! for He who made that glowing Sun, 
Still watches o'er His children — and He spreads 
A roll of starry brightness o'er our heads, 
Waking the stars and planets one by one. 



24 TUESDAY MORNING. 

So rolls the varying day — and morn and noon 
And even-tide and night — alike proclaim 
The ne'er-decaying splendour of His name ; 
His love, that 's never wearied, shed on man ; 
The never-bounded influence of His might ; 
The never-erring wisdom of His plan. 
In Him, all, all is glory — knowledge — light — 
Truth — beauty — joy : and both in what we see 
And what we see not — both in what we know 
And what we know not — kindness, mercy glow 
In the refulgence of Infinity. 



TUESDAY MORNING. 

When the arousing call of Morn 
Breaks o'er the hills, and day new born 
Comes smiling from the purple east. 
And the pure streams of liquid light 
Bathe all the earth — renew'd and bright, 
Uprising from its dream of rest — 

O how delightful then, how sweet 
Again to feel life's pulses beat ; 



TUESDAY MORNING. 25 

Again life's kindly warmth to prove ; 
To drink anew of pleasure's spring ; 
Again our matin song to sing 
To the great Cause of light and love ! 

To Him, whom comet, planet, star, 
Sun, moon in their sweet courses far, 
Praise in eternal homage meet ; 
While thousand choirs of seraphs bring 
Their sounding harps of gold — and fling 
Their crowns of glory at His feet. 

Thou ! who didst wake me first from nought. 
And lead my heaven-aspiring thought 
To some faint, feeble glimpse of thee : 
Thou ! who didst touch my slumb'ring heart 
With Thy own hand — and didst impart 
A portion of thy deity : 

O teach me. Father ! while I feel 
The impress of Thy glorious seal — 
And whence I came and whither tend : 
Teach me to live — to act — to be 
Worthy my origin, and thee, 
And worthy my immortal end. 
3 



26 TUESDAV EVENING. 

O not in vain to me be given 

The joys of earth — the hopes of heaven ! 

O not in vain may I receive 

My master's talents — but, subdued 

And tutor'd by the soul of good, 

To God — to bliss — to virtue live ! 

Heaven's right-lined path may I discern, 
Nor, led by pride or folly, turn 
A handbreadth from the onward road ; 
Fight the good fight — the foe subdue. 
And wear the heavenly garland too — 
A garland from the hand of God ! 



TUESDAY EVENING. 

'Tis now the solemn hour, when spirits come 
To alarm credulity — 'tis now the hour, 
When disembodied ghosts have awful power 
To burst th' impris'ning portals of the tomb. 
Such vain creations from the midnight's womb 
Has superstition summon 'd and array'd 
In all the hideous forms that fear has made. 



TUESDAY EVENING. 27 

Spirits there art indeed that walk the night, — 
Not such as these — but heavenly tongues, that call, 
In nature's hallow'd eloquence, on all, 
To wins: themselves for a diviner fli2;ht. 
The wise man hears their voices : darkness, light, 
To him are equally momentous things. 
And each a monitory warning brings 
From th' other side of death. The sun goes down ; 
But truth, that never sleeps, still rides sublime 
Through all the strange vicissitudes of time — 
Speaks in the noon-tide's smile, the midnight's 
frown. 

Now in the stillness of the eve serene, 
The calm of meek devotion's influence, 
Upsoaring from this dark impris'ning scene, 
Appealing from what is, and what has been. 
To that which shall be — from a world of sense, 
To spiritual worlds ; inviting down from thence 
Rays of the light that gilds heaven's holy place — 
I turn my thoughts, appalling Power ! to Thee. 
Appalling Power ! Thy awful majesty 
Might scatter us in dust — but, lo ! Thy grace, 
Milder and softer than the early dew, 
Invites us to Thy presence. Lord ! forgive 
Thy trembling children — Father ! Friend ! receive 
Their tribute, humble and unworthy too. 



28 TUESDAY EVENING. 

'Tis sweet, in journeying thro' this vale of tears. 
To gather its fair flowers ; to pay, and prove 
Blessings and sympathies, and acts of love. 
And so to sink into the lap of years : 
But sweeter, when life's evening star appears, 
To see religion's holy visions bright. 
Hover on wings of righteousness and light, 
Smiling kind invitations from above. 
What though a thousand or ten thousand graves 
Arrest our stumbling footsteps — they are nought 
But seats of rest where the life-wearied thought 
Reposes — while divinest glory waves 
Her palms of triumph o'er the grassy heaps. — 
Life's journey is oft wearisome and wild ; 
And there affliction's tired and troubled child 
On nature's all-composing bosom sleeps. 

There is a land, where everlasting suns 
Shed everlasting brightness — where the soul 
Drinks from the living streams of love, that roll 
By God's high throne ! myriads of glorious ones 
Bring there th' accepted offering. O how blest 
To look from diis dark prison to that shrine, 
T' inhale one breath of paradise divine — 
And enter into that eternal rest 
Which waits the sons of God ! Remote from care. 
Remote from disappointment, to employ 



WEDNESDAY MORNING, 2^ 

Hours never-ending in the courts of joy, 

And wear a crown of heavenly splendour there ! 

With such a destiny, what earthly fear, 
What earthly woe shall cloud my spirit ? None. 
Forward, then, forward to the golden throne ! 
Why should our restless wishes linger here ? 
See from the clouds a smiling angel calls, 
" Come hither, Christian ! — Open is the door — 
The path is strait — delay not — doubt no more — 
Lo ! thou art welcome to the heavenly halls." 
Father — I go — I hear th' inviting sound — 
No more shall earthly objects dim my eyes — 
Away, away the world's dull vanities ! 
I hasten on — to heaven — to Eden bound. 



WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

When Morn peeps o'er the mountain's height 
And the last star has left the sky. 
And dews disperse at waking light. 
And Earth puts on her robes of joy. 
And flowers look out, and woods are gay 
With birds and breezes — O, 'tis meet 
To join the universal lay, 
And nature's chorus to repeat ; 
- 3^ 



30 ' WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

To lead the aspiring soul to Him, 
Whose is the darkness, whose the day — 
Who kindled first the sunny beam ; 
Pour'd forth the wand'ring milky way ; 
Fill'd all heaven's lamps with ether ; spread 
The canopy above — whose hand 
The valleys scoop'd — the mountains weigh'd- 
Fadiom'd the ocean — rear'd the land, 
And crowded all with life and b'iss. 
See life and bliss around us glowing ! 
Wherever space or being is, 
The cup of joy is full and flowing. 

Yes ! Nature is a splendid show, 
Where an attentive mind may hear 
Music in all the winds that blow — 
And see a silent worshipper 
In every flower, on every tree, 
In every vale, on every hill — 
Perceive a voice of melody 
In waving grass or whispering rill ; 
And catch a soft but solemn sound 
Of worship from the smallest fly, 
The cricket chirping on the ground. 
The trembling leaf that hangs on high. 

Proud scornful man ! thy soaring wing 
Would hurry tow'rds Infinity ; 



WEDNESDAY MORNING. 21 

And yet the vilest, meanest thing 

Is too sublime, too deep for thee ; 

And all thy vain imagining 

Lost in the smallest speck we see. 

It must be so — for He, even He 

Who worlds created, form'd the worm — 

He pours the dew, who fill'd the sea — 

Breathes from the flower, who rules the storm : — 

Him we may worship — not conceive ; 

See not and hear not — but adore : 

Bow in the dust — obey — believe — 

Utter His name — and know no more. 

His throne is o'er the highest star 
That wanders heaven's blue vault along ; 
He drives unseen His glorious car 
A million viewless worlds among. 
A thousand — ay ! ten thousand suns 
Are darkness in His piercing eye ! 
Thy life runs on — and while it runs, 
Vainly to know him dost thou try : 
That is a bliss for realms on high, 
When thou shalt breathe diviner air, 
And drink of heaven's felicity ; 
For knowledge knows no boundary there, 

O, if joy be here thy doom. 
Give it anchorage above ; 



32 WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

If thy path be dark with gloom, 

Steal a ray from heavenly love. 

Source of joy ! — my friend ! my Father ! 

In thy presence let me be, 

Here the flowers of Virtue gather, 

Blooming for eternity. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

Almighty Being ! wise and holy 
Who hast to each his portion given ; 
To the poor worm his station lowly. 
And to the choirs of angels — heaven ; 
My fate is in thy righteous keeping, 
Ruler of worlds ! — unbounded One ; 
While to weak man, in error sleeping, 
Thy awful course is all unknown ; 
Far from Thy light immortal streaming, 
From heaven, — resplendently afar, 
Man's ray is but the feeble gleaming 
Of evening's palest, farthest star. 
With hope upon his path descending, 
Life's darkness soon gives way to light j 
Some holy sunbeams hither tending. 
Chase the dark clouds of doubt, of night. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING, 33 

O had our journey, wasting, weary, 
No ray like these to gild the gloom, 
Life were a desert dark and dreary, 
A midnight prison-house — a tomb ! 
Merciful Being ! Friend ! Creator ! 
To Thee 1 look, to Thee I call ; 
On Thee I rest my fragile nature ; 
Not on this transient world, nor all 
The world's foundations. Thou, who kindly 
Smil'st on ray path, conduct me still ; 
Conduct me, while fatigued and blindly 
I climb up life*s deceitful hill ; 
Smile in Thy hght of mercy o'er me. 
And form me to Thy holy will ; 
Thy hope shall sweetly beam before me^ 
Thy rays my little lamp shall fill. 
Could 1 control my future being, 
No thought of pride should e'er rebel ; 
Thou, all-designing — guiding — seeing, 
Wilt direct all things wisely, well. 
Disturb not, dreams of care ! to-morrow ; 
Enough the evil of to-day : 
My destined sum of joy and sorrow 
The scales of perfect wisdom weigh. 
He for ten thousand worlds providing, 
Yet condescends to tliink of me ! 



34 THURSDAY MORNING. 

My little skifF securely guiding 

O'er Time's now still, now troubled sea ; 

Calm as the night, and soft and vernal 

As the spring's breath, my bark shall move, 

Till, launch'd into the gulf eternal, 

It anchors in a port above. 



THURSDAY MORNING * 

The heavens, O Lord ! Thy power proclaim, 
And the earth echoes back Thy name ; 
Ten thousand voices speak Thy might, 
And day to day, and night to night, 
Utter Thy praise, — Thou Lord above ! 
Thy praise — thy glory — and Thy love. 

All things I see, or hear, or feel, 
Thy wisdom, goodness, power reveal. 
The silent crescent hung on high, 
So calmly sailing through the sky , 
The lowliest flower that lights the dells ; 
The lightest wave the stream that swells ; 

* ZoUikofer's Sermons, Vol. VI. p. 253. 



THURSDAY MORNING. 35 

The breeze that o'er the garden plays ; 
The farthest planet's glimmering rays ; 
The dew upon the distant hill ; 
The vapours that the valley fill ; 
The grove's untutor'd harmony — 
All speak, — and loudly speak of thee. 



Thy name, thy glories, they rehearse, 
Great Spirit of the universe ! 
Sense of all sense, and Soul of soul, 
Nought is too vast for thy control ; 
The meanest and the mightiest share 
Alike Thy kindness and Thy care. 



Beneath Thy all-directing nod. 
Both worlds and w'orms are equal, God ! 
Thy hand the comets' orbits di-ew, 
And lighted yonder glow-worm too ; 
Thou didst the dome of heaven build up, 
And form'dst yon snow-drop's silver cup. 



And nature with its countless throng, 
And sun and moon and planets' song 



L) THURSDAY MORNING. 

And every flower that light receives, 
And every dew tliat tips its leaves. 
And every murmur of the sea — 
Tunes its sweet voice to worship Thee. 

Yes ! all below and all above, 

Drink of Thy flowing stream of love ; 

Yes ! whereso'er existence is, 

There, there is greatness, hope, and bliss ; 

There never was a mortal eye 

Which has not shone with smiles of joy. 

And all are bending to the spot 
Where disappointment enters not ; 
The seed of man's mortality 
Shall on earth's bosom scatter'd be, 
And from its germs at last arise 
Fair blossoms, fit for paradise. 

And we, creation's princes, we 

The favourites of the Deity, 

The wise — the strong — whose thoughts can soar 

Heaven's brightest, highest concave o'er ; 

And hold, above created things. 

Communion with the King of kings — 



THURSDAY MORNING. 37 

Shall we not praise and worship Thee, 
Thou infinite Divinity ? 
Thank Thee for what we know — and own 
Tliou hidest what is best unknown ; 
And kindly, wisely, hast conceal'd 
The future, from our vision veil'd f 

Shall we disturb the harmony 
Which all creation tunes to Thee ; 
Those sweet concordant notes, that sound 
The arched hall of nature round ; 
That fill the earth, the sea, the air. 
And reach Thy throne — accepted there ? 

No : rather our according voice 
Shall in the general praise rejoice. 
And join the ever-during hymn 
With cherubim and seraphim — 
With all to whom a tongue is given. 
To worship Thee, the Lord of heaven. 



38 



THURSDAY EVENING. 

Peace 'neath the stars may fix her seat, 
And bliss look smiling from on high, 
When spirits hold communion sweet 
With brighter spirits of the sky. 
The earth is resting calmly now 
Beneath the curtain'd shade of night, 
The sun behind the mountain's brow 
Has veil'd his last and lingering light. 

Reviving sleep ! thy sheltering wing 
Is o'er the couch of labour spread ; 
Sweet minister — unearthly thing — 
That hovers round the tired one's head. 
As calm and cold, as mortal clay 
When life is fled — earth soundly sleeps ; 
When evening veils the eye of day, 
And darkness rules the ocean deeps. 

But, lighted 'neath heaven's temple arch, 
Ten thousand stars are shining round. 
And all on their imposing march 
Thy everlasting praise resound. 



THURSDAY EVENING. 39 

A thousand, thousand joyful tongues 
Are heard in heaven when earth is still ; 
And echoes of unnumber'd songs 
The vast extent of nature till. 

O then Thy spirit, Lord ! anew 
Enkindles strength in sleeping men ; 
It falls as falls the evening dew — 
And life's sad waste repairs again. 
While mildly o'er the deep repose 
Peace smiles from her exalted throne, 
In sleep a million eyelids close — 
Heaven watches — and heaven wakes alone. 

Preserving, blessing, guarding all. 
The night and day His smile inspires; 
He sits beneath His star-rooPd hall, 
And never slumbers — never tires : 
No rest requites his ceaseless toil — 
He never faints, He needs not rest : 
Man sinks to deep repose awhile 5 
God reigns untired — immortal — blest. 

Then let me, led by Him, pursue 
My path, from folly's slavery free ; 
Throw off my chain — and then renew v 

My journey tow'rds eternity. 



40 FRIDAY MORNING. 

Be nature's gentle slumbers mine — 

And lead me gently to the last, 

Until I hear Thy voice divine — 

" Awake ! for death's long night is past." 



FRIDAY MORNING. 
Ps. civ. 

Sing thy Creator's praise, and own 
Him greatest — wisest — God alone. 
He wraps himself in robes of light, 
And, clothed in garments pure and bright 
Of honour and of majesty, 
He makes the skies His canopy. 

The pillars of His temple are 

Built on the ocean ; and His car, 

The clouds of heaven. Th' Eternal Mind 

Rides on the pinions of the wind : 

A thousand spirits wait His will. 

And, touch'd witii fire. His word fulfil. 

Thou rear'dst the universe sublime 
On arches of unshaken time — 



FRIDAY MORNING. 41 

And wrapp'dst this vast terraqueous globe 
With the deep waters as a robe — 
And badst the eternal huls sustain 
The o'erhanging pregnant clouds of rain. 

At Thy decree the waters fall — 
They hasten at Thy thunder's call ; 
Down from the rocky heights they gush, 
And through the thirsty valleys rush 
On to the vast receptacle, 
Where Thou hast bid the waters dwell. 

There hast Thou girt ihem with a shore, 
That they may flood the earth no more : 
While thousand and ten thousand rills, 
Wand'ring among the mazy hills, 
Fresh from their sparkling fountain burst. 
Where the wild asses quench then* thirst. 

'Tis there, along the streamlet's side. 
The winged fowls of heaven abide ; 
Among the waving boughs they sing, 
That overhang the crystal spring ; 
The hills are water'd from above, 
And earth reflects a heaven of love. 
4* 



42 FRIDAY MORNINGf. 

He bids the emerald verdure grow, 
He makes the smiling flow'rets blow ; 
He plants the roots, he sows the grain, 
A common feast for beasts and men ; 
To each He gives his portion'd food — 
He, ever active, wise, and good ! 

He bids the loaded vine produce 
For man its generous, joyous juice ; 
And oil that makes his face to shine, 
And bread to nourish — all is Thine, 
Thou great, life-giving Deity ! 
Yes ! all we have we owe to Thee^ 

The life-sap at Thy bidding flows 
Through the young trees — the cedar grows 
Tovv'ring above the mountain's crest, 
Where the wood songster builds her nest ; 
While 'mid the solitary pines, 
The careful stork her home enshrines. 

To the rude rocks the conies fly ; 
The wild goats seek the mountains high ; 
While o'er them the benignant moon 
Siiines mildly — and the night, the noon, 



FRIDAY MORNING. 43 

In their appointed courses fall : 
Govern'd by Him who governs all. 



'Tis night— Thou spreadst the darkness deep ; 
The wild beasts from their hidings creep, 
And the young lions seek their prey 
From their Creator — till the ray 
Of morning calmly dawns, and then 
They slumber in their lairs again. 



Man to his daily labour goes. 
Until the evening brings repose. 
O Lord ! how great, how manifold 
Thy works, how glorious and untold I 
Their ever-during songs proclaim 
The vast perfections of Thy name. 



The mighty, the unbounded sea, 
(Image of Thine immensity !) 
Fill'd with ten thousand creatures — all 
Sharing Thy care, the great, the small ; 
The whale's gigantic mass — ^the swarms 
Of unseen myriads' insect-forms. 



44 FRIDAY MORNING. 

The ships the busy billows crowd } 
And 'midst the waters rushing loud, 
(He owns not the control of man) 
The huge, the dread leviathan, 
Sils on his ever-shifung throne, 
And claims that kingdom for his own. 

On Thee they wait, on Thee depend — 
While Thou, their ever-present friend, 
Provid'st their food ;— Tiiy plenteous hand, 
Outstretch'd, fills all the sea, the land. 
With good — which they, delighted, gather 
From Thy great store. Thou gracious Father ! 

Thy face is hidden — darkness clouds 

The trembling earth ; — Thy frowning shrouds 

Existence with its gloom ;— - Thy ray 

Is hidden from them — they decay : 

Thou dost withdraw Thy breath — they die, 

And in the clayey valley lie. 

Thy spirit is sent forth again, 
• And life resumes its joyous reign ; . 
Again is nature's face renew'd, 
And love, and bliss, and gratitude, 



FRIDAY MORNING. 45 

Clad all the face of earth with light, 
And hope, and bliss, and promise bright. 

His glory shall endure for ever — 
His praise shall perish never, never ! 
Rejoicing in His work, and pleas'd 
With the proud fabric he hath rais'd. 
Blest 'midst the blessings He hath given — 
In heaven directing all to heaven ! 

A thousand worlds His presence greet ; 
The mountains smoke beneath His feet ; 
The earth his presence fears ; — but I 
Will sing his praises joyfully. 
While I have life or breath to sing. 
In His existence triumphing. 

How sweet to meditate, O Lord ! 
On Thy great name. Thy glorious word. 
In Thy blest presence to rejoice. 
To Thy blest praise attune my voice, 
And from Thy cup to drink the stream 
Of gladness and of joy supreme ! 

If daring worldly ones contemn 
That Power, whose glance might scatter 
them, — 



46 FRIDAY EVENING. 

I, in my honest purpose, still 
Will own Thy hand and do Thy will : 
Blest, blest unutterably, to be 
Devoted, Lord ! to truth and Thee. 



FRIDAY EVENING. 

A HOLY Stillness fills the sky. 
While evening tunes its vesper song, 
And, like a sacred lamp, on high 
The solitary moon is hung. 
Repose upon her downy pinion, 
Lights on the pilgrim's couch serene, 
And holds her undisturb'd dominion, 
O'er the dark silence of the scene. 
O then the spirit loves to turn 
Upon its inward self; and then 
Those hallow'd fires of virtue burn. 
Which, born of heaven, ascend again 
To their high source ; — all worldly care. 
All earth's pursuits and pleasures seem 
Unworthy trifles, as they are, 
Too grov'lling lor the soul's esteem. 



FRIDAY EVENING. 47 

Then the Divinity within 
Lights the freed soul, and heaven appears 
Like some fair star, the clouds between 
Soft smiling through the night of years. 
Then with new life the spirit flies 
Up to its primal, proud abode; 
Reads all the secrets of the skies. 
And holds high converse with its God. 
O let me turn to heaven my eye — 
Heaven is my portion, is my home — 
And, steering onward joyfully. 
Be welcomed by the harb'ring tomb. 
Thus in serenest holiness 
Let days and nights roll sweetly past ; 
And if a tear — a tear of peace — 
Shall tremble in my eye at last ; 
Enough to think that I am Thine — 
Enough for sorrow's darkest hour — 
If I may call Thee, claim Thee mine — 
God of my life ; I ask no more. 
Father ! O let Thy light, Thy love, 
Guard to his tomb thy wanderer ; 
And when his spirit soars above, 
Be all his errors buried here. 



48 



SATURDAY MORNING. 

As from the vapours of the east 
The sun o'er morning's twilight steals, 
So truth illumes the pious breast, 
When man his inmost soul unveils : 
When the still monitor within 
Holds meet communion with his heart, 
And self-approval gilds the scene, 
As hours and days and weeks depart. 

How wise, departing weeks to call 
To stern inquiry's solemn bar, 
And take a strict account of all ! 
For all in heaven recorded are : 
The talents lost — the moments run 
To waste — the sins of act, of thought, 
Ten thousand deeds of folly done. 
And countless virtues cherish'd not. 

A towering spirit, born of heaven, 
And tending up to heaven again, 
By earthly cares and errors driven. 
And chain'd to all those errors vain 5 



SATURDAY MORNING. 49 

A temple worthy of a God, 
Degraded to an earth-worm's cell ; 
A soul sublime — become a clod, 
Dark, heavy, and insensible. 

Can such a reckoning then appal. 
To the heart's secret inquest given ? 
How dreadful — if unveil'd to all 
Th' assembled hosts of earth and heaven ; 
Deceive thee not, vain man ! for so 
Shall time thy inmost self declare, 
And the great day of days shall show 
Each vice thou wrapp'st so fondly here. 

Delusion ! rend the shading veil ; 
Hypocrisy ! come forth — and pride ! 
Thy naked form no more conceal ; 
Come, fierce intolerance ! nor hide 
Thy serpent-sting in folds of zeal, 
In pious words thy tiger-tooth ; 
Come forth, ye long-mask'd fiends ! and feel 
The all-discovering touch of truth. 

How many fancied saints, that wear 
Self-gratulation's starry dress, 



30 SATURDAY EVENING. 

Shall stand unrobed — astonish'd theref 

In trembling, tottering nakedness ! 

How many a humble one, whose eye 

Scarce dares look up to heaven's bright throne, 

Shall bear the robes of majesty, 

And put the golden garland on ! 



SATURDAY EVENING. 

Hours, days, weeks — so our life-term flows — 

Gently, as melt the vernal snows 

Beneath the sun ; they pass away, 

Like dew-drops in the eye of day, 

One by one — till all are gone : 

The mists disperse — the twilight 's o'er, 

And the monarch bursts from th' orient door. 

And the clouds impede his march no more. 

Such is the fate of man ! and so 
His night of life rolls by, — the wave 
Of darkness sweeps across his grave — 
Then o'er the gloomy hills of snow, 
That seem life's boundary — brighter suns 
Emerge in glory — suns immortal — 
Bursting through the deep tomb's portal — 
And the tide of being runs 



SATURDAY EVENING. 51 

In living light — eternal — bright, 
While everlasting ages flow. 

Why should the grave be terrible ? 
Why should it be a word of fear, 
Jarring upon the mortal ear ? 
There repose and silence dwell : — 
The living hear the funeral knell, 
But the dead no funeral knell can hear. 
Does the gay flower scorn the grave ? the dew 
Forget to kiss its turf? the stream 
Refuse to bathe it ? or the beam 
Of moonlight shun the narrow bed. 
Where the tired pilgrim rests his head ? 
No ! the moon is there, and smiling too ! 
And the sweetest song of the morning bird 
Is oft in that ancient yew-tree heard ; 
And there may you see the harebell blue 
Bending his light form — gently — proudly, 
And listen to the fresh winds, loudly 
Playing around yon sod, as gay 
As if it were a holiday, 
And children freed from durance they : 
But 'tis the kingdom of decay ! 
So is the world — and all we see, 
The sport of mutability. 
Think ye the mountains never change, 
Nor the vast ocean ? 



52 SATURDAY EVENING. 

There 's not an hour — but swift, and strange, 

And secret workings — the commotion 

Of all the elements goes on ; — 

There 's not a spark of yonder Sun, 

Which does not perish at its birth : 

For life itself is but the child 

Of death — and this life-giving Earth 

Is dissolution's parent mild. 

Death is the gate through which we come 

Into the world — and every day 

We die — and when dissolved away, 

'Tis death conducts us to our home. 

Death hath no terrors — while we are, 

Death is not — when w^e cease to be, 

Then death begins. Eternity 

Is life, not death. What cause for fear 

Of death — when this same death we dread. 

Is life continuous, — and to die 

Is but to live immortally ? 

Here, every, every step we tread. 

Is on a grave — and every breath 

Heaved, is a messenger of death. 

'Tis well. If life have a joy worth giving, 
'Tis not the fragile joy of living, 
Except as it leads us to the door 
Where life's delusions cheat no more : 



SATURDAY EVENING. 5o 

They will soon be over — and then, O then, 

Rapture 'twill be to live again, 

Where man in his glory shall inherit 

What 's brightest and best of his earthly spirit; 

And blend — and not in a perishing hour — 

Beauty and wisdom, and light and power. 



5* 



SECOND WEEK, 



SUMMER. 



57 



SUNDAY MORNING. 



Thou art my glory — Thou my song — whose throne 
Is built upon the highest heavens — and thence 
Rollest the spheres by Thine omnipotence — 
Thou art my song, O Lord ! and Thou alone ! 
Thy kingdom is of subject-worlds. The arch 
Above us, deck'd with stars as dust, Thou treadest 
Beneath Thy feet in Thy resplendent march ; 
And, in the twinkling of an eye. Thou readest 
The eternity that 's past — and that to come. 
All time concentred in one ray to Thee ; 
All being is Thy will — all space Thy home ; 
And all Thy attributes — infinity. 

Thou art my song ! which from such thoughts 
as these 
Where our poor reason wanders in the abyss 
Of undiscoverable mysteries, 
Turns from sublimer, higher worlds, to this ; 
And in its lowly flowers — and silent meads 
And gentle waters — and sweet solitude — 
Its valleys and its plains and mountains — reads 
That Thou art good — immeasurably good. 

Thou art my song ! and when Thy name I breath© 
Light seems descending from Thy seat — to bear 



58 SUNDAY MORNING. 

On wings of hope the trembling worshiper, 
To realms beyond the frozen clime of death. 
Then do the doubts and fears that overcast 
Man's perilous way depart, and rays divine, 
Though faint and feeble, o'er his path-way shine, 
Which point him to a resting-place at last. 
Whose very dreams are blessedness — for he 
Who has been tost upon a turbulent sea, 
Can by the distant shores encouraged be. 

Thou art my song ! — though in life's dreary maze, 
Sorrow and darkness seem to be my lot. 
And 'midst their heavy clouds I trace Thee not, 
Yet Thou art there — and gratitude shall raise 
Its early voice in reverence. Shifting days 
And opening weeks shall, as they flow along. 
Leave some bright record of harmonious praise 
To Thee, who art my glory and my song ! 

Thy sun awakes and sets — The world grows old 
And is renewed again. The seasons flow 
Unchanging in their changes — -joy and woe 
Preside in turns — and then we are enroll'd 
Among the slumberers of the grave — but Thou 
To whom past, present, future are as now, 
Art still the same — still watching — still intent 
On Thy high purpose — from the labyrinth vast, 
Where good and evil, joy and grief are blent 



SUNDAY EVENING. 59 

In common fate, to perfect — and present 
A future, — gather'd from the chequer'd past, 
Where bliss shall be predominant — and spread 
Wider and wider — till it shall embrace, 
All the great family of the human race. 
And give a crown of light to every head. — 
O may I join that never-number'd throng. 
And sing thy praise eternal — Thou my song ! 



SUNDAY EVENING. 

" Let not your hearts be troubled, but confide 

" In me as ye confide in God ; I go 

" A mansion for my followers to provide ; 

" My Father's heavenly dwelling is supplied 

" With many mansions ; — I had told ye so, 

" Were there not room ; — I hasten to prepare 

" Your seats, — and soon will come again, and say, 

" Be welcome : — where your Lord inhabits, there, 

" There should his followers be : ye know the way — 

<' I am the way, the truth, the life." — 'Twas thus 

The Saviour spoke — and in that blessed road^ 



60 SUNDAY EVENING, 

What flow'rets grow, what sun-beams shine on us, 
All glowing with the brightness of our God ! 
Heaven seems to open round, the earth is still, 
As if to sanctify us for the skies ; 
All tending to the realms where blessing lies, 
And joy and gladness, up the eternal hill. 
As the heaven-guided prophet, when his eyes 
Stretch'd wearied o'er the peaceful promised land. 
Even as he stood on Canaan's shores, we stand. 

O night ! how beautiful thy golden dress, 
On which so many stars like gems are strew'd ; 
So mild and modest in thy loveliness. 
So bright, so glorious in thy solitude ! 
The soul soars upwards on it holy wings, 
Through the vast ocean-paths of light sublime, 
Visits a thousand yet unravell'd things ; 
And, if its memories look to earthly time 
And earthly interests, 'tis as in a dream — 
For earth and earthly things but shadows seem ; 
While heaven is substance, and eternity. 
This is Thy temple. Lord ! 'tis worthy Thee, 
And in it Thou hast many a lamp suspended, 
That dazzles not, but lights resplendently ; 
And there Thy court is — there Thy court, attended 



SUNDAY EVENING. 61 

By myriad, myriad messengers — the song 
Of countless and melodious harps is heard, 
Sweeter than rill, or stream, or vernal bird, 
The dark and melancholy woods among. 
And golden worlds in that wide temple glow, 
And roll in brightness, in their orbits vast ; 
And there the future mingles with the past. 
An unbeginning, an unending now. 

Death ! they may call thee what they will, but thou 
Art lovely in my eyes — thy thoughts to me 
No terror bring ; but silence and repose. 
And pleasing dreams, and soft serenity. 
Thou wear'st a wreath where many a wild flower 

blows ; 
And breezes of the south play round thy throne ; 
And thou art visited by the calm bright moon ; 
And the gay spring her emerald mantle throws 
Over thy bosom ; every year renews 
Thy grassy turf, while man beneath it sleeps ; 
Evening still bathes it with its gentle dews. 
Which every morn day's glorious monarch sweeps 
With his gay smile away : — and so we lie, 
Gather'd in the storehouse of mortality. 
That storehouse overflows with heavenly seed ^ 
And, planted by th' Eternal Husbandman, 
6 



63 MONDAY MORNINCT. 

Water'd and watch'd, it shall hereafter breed 
A progeny of strength, no numbers can 
Or reach and reckon. It shall people heaven 5 
Fill up the thrones of angels : — it shall found 
A kingdom, knowing nor decay nor bound, 
Built on the base by Gospel promise given. 



MONDAY MORNING, 

O SWEET it is to know, to feel, 
In all our gloom, our wand'rings here — 
No night of sorrow can conceal 
Man from Thy notice, from Thy care. 

When disciplined by long distress, 
And led through paths of fear and woe j. 
Say dost Thou love Thy children less ? 
No, ever-gracious Father ! No. 

No distance can outreach Thy eye, 
No night obscure Thy endless day : 
Be this my comfort when I sigh, 
Be tliis my safeguard when 1 stray. 



MONDAY MORNING, 63 

Unseen, yet every where Thou art, 
Felt every where, yet all unknown ! 
In the frail temple of my heart, 
As on Thine everlasting throne. 

Where'er I turn, where'er I go, 
Spirit sublime ! Thy light, Thy love, 
Are there ; in ocean-caves below, 
On yonder farthest orb above. * 

Thy presence in the shade is seen. 
As in the sunshine ; in a worm, 
As in a world ; in eve serene, 
As in the thunder of the storm. 



Weak are our thoughts : our sight is dim. 
Or our uncurtain'd eye might see 
A sweeter, purer, holier beam 
In sorrow, than in revelry. 

The fairest flow'rets of the mead, 
The sparkling gem, the insect gay, 
From the dark womb of earth proceed,, 
And borrow from the dust their ray. 



64 MONDAY MORNINfi. 

The glow-worm sparkling through the night, 
The star that twinkles in the sky ; 
Take from surrounding gloom their light — 
Their splendour from obscurity. 

And not the vilest, not the worst, 

His discipline of mercy proves : 

His chastening hand descends the first 

On thbse who love Him — those He loves. 



Pride, power, would seem to pass their hours 
Basking in an unclouded day ; 
On them the dew of comfort showers. 
And crown'd with flowery wreaths are they ! 

'Tis false, 'tis vain ! those dews are cold — 
They fall — but they refresh not them ; 
And those fair-seeming flow'rets hold 
A canker in their budding stem. 

In His just scales, the meanest thing 

That bears the name of man — when weigh'd, 

Is dear as is the proudest king 

In all his glittering robes array'd. 



MONDAY EVENINtt. 65 

The wretch who in the common sti-eet 

The victim of oppression falls, 

Is noble as the titled great 

Who dies in luxury's painted halls. 



Men are deceived by idle names — 
^Tis easier to be rich than wise : 
And wisdom less distinctions claims 
Than fortune's idle vanities. 



But God the naked soul surveys — 
Its dress deserves not His regard : 
'Tis worth alone obtains His praise, 
And holiness His bright reward. 



MONDAY EVENING. 

The evening twilight gently dies ; 
The air is cool ; the silent night 
Serenely reigns ; the curtain'd skies 
To contemplation's shrine invite ; 
6* 



66 MONDAY EVENING. 

The labours of the day are done : 
That man how exquisitely blest, 
Who, with the calm declining sun, 
Is shrouded in untroubled rest ! 



Thrice blest, who steals 'neath twilight's smile, 

Tranquil as yon fair arch above. 

To sleep, securely sleep awhile, 

In the kind arms of heavenly love : 

With no reproaching voice within. 

To break upon the calm of bliss ; 

As evening's earliest dew serene, 

And gentle as the twilight is. 

The sun of virtue, while it glows 
Resplendent in its mid-day power. 
An ever-during radiance throws 
On every distant future hour : 
'Tis like the rose, whose beauties fade. 
But who?e sweet odours, saved by art, 
A sphere of wider round pervade, 
A fragrance more condensed impart. 

O wretched he whose vanish'd past 
No sunshine for the future leaves ; 



MONDAY EVENING. 67 

Whose present is a joyless waste, 

Where gloomy disappointment grieves 

O'er pleasures pall'd — o'er hopes destroyed — 

Time wasted — talents buried — life 

Trifled — neglected — unenjoyed — 

'Midst folly's whims, and passion's strife. 



And life is such a flitting thing, 

And joy is such a glancing star, 

And such vain sprites, on shadowing wing, 

The train of earth's delusions are. 

That he who builds his towering schemes 

On surge-like bases — such as these — 

Rears but a pyramid of dreams 

Upon the ever-shifting seas. 



Alas ! the brightest and the best 

Of earthly pleasures soon decay ; 

The sweetest and the loveliest 

Glide, hke a passing breeze, away. 

Yes ! e'en like nature's fairest birth. 

The flow'rets blushing through the dew, 

The rude wind sweeps them from the earth-— 

But not like flowers, to smile anew. 



68 TUESDAY MORNING. 

E'en like the fell'd, the falling tree. 
That, east or west, in ruin lies— 
Crush'd by the stroke of destiny, 
Man, with the dull dust blended, dies. 
But he shall from that bed arise, 
Renew'd by heaven's eternal spring ; 
And in the garden of the skies 
Bloom in eternal blossoming. 



TUESDAY MORNING. 

How wisely is the stream of life controlPd 
In Its mild course — exhausted, and renew'd I 
When toiling day its hurried tide has roll'd, 
Comes night's sweet season ; — a vicissitude 
Of labour and of rest ; — the day-rays shine 
Upon the mountains, — and I live again : 
Yet blest it is our spirits to resign 
To the calm influence of midnight's reign. 
Land of pure freedom — kingdom of repose ! 
I lay and slept — the day had hid his beam, 
And my tired spirit at the evening's close 
Slept with the sun — while many a lovely dream 



TUESDAY MORNING. 69 

Play'd with my wandering intellect, and spread 

Its soften'd colouring round me, — and I breathed 

In new existence, by bright fancy led 

To realms, in which eternal garlands wreathed 

The enfranchised spirit. What a blessedness, 

Though for a moment only, to take wing 

To tlie fair regions of eternal peace. 

The paradise of everlasting spring. 

Whose life-source is immortal ! E'en this world 

Were a most privileged, most bright abode, 

If hence — imagination's wings unfurl'd 

Could sometimes waft th' aspiring soul to God. 

Man's hopes and fears may seem confined, to him 

Whose vision stretches not o'er mortal things : 

But the most distant star's invisible beam, 

Or comet in his farthest journeyings. 

Or all the extent which philosophic ken 

Has given to infinite space — th' elastic soul 

Springs over : these, and more th»n these, in vain 

Her free and untired wand'rings would control. 

At will, she travels on from sun to sun — 

S}^stem to system — peoples as she flies 

Unnumber'd stars — an all-creating one ! 

Dives mto nature's deepest mysteries ; 

Unlocks the gates of death, and holds communion 

Whh spirits of the tomb ; and yet this spark, 



70 TUESDAY MOHNING. 

So bright and beautiful, is held in union 
With mortal clay, — unintellectual, dark, 
And seems to perish. It can perish never. 
Born of the heavens, again to heaven it speeds 
To dwell in its own home — to shine for ever. 
Divested of its dull and mortal weeds. 

Great Being ! who hast placed Thy pilgrim here, 
In the dull twilight of this shadow-land, 
O lead me to that brighter, better sphere, 
'Neath the mild influence of Thy guiding hand. 
Let me partake Thy gifts. Thy gifts improve, 
Enjoy thy sunshine here, and pluck the flowers 
Strew'd on my path by Thy benignant love ; 
Inhale the freshness of the morning hours, 
The fragrance of the evening breeze ; and see 
In all things Thy directing spirit, Lord ! 
Thou, in all nature visible — all in Thee : 
And hear Thy voice. Thy all-impressive word, 
In every sound of air, or earth, or sea ; 
For all — O God ! are pregnant with Thy praise — 
And I thus join the general harmony. 
And my low song of grateful worship raise. 



71 



TUESDAY EVENING. 

To Thee, my God ! to Thee I bring 
The evening's grateful offering ; 
From Thee, the source of joy above, 
Flow everlasting streams of love ; 
And all the rays of light that shine, 
And bless creation, Lord ! are Thine. 



From the green valley, glad and gay. 
Among whose flowers the zephyrs play, 
Up to the azure hill, whose height 
And distance bound the far-stretch'd sight, 
Hearing its proud head silently 5 
•All, all is eloquent with Thee. 



And from the little worm, whose light 
Shines palely through the shades of night.. 
Up to the sparkling stars that run 
Their evening rounds— or glorious sun. 
Rolling his car to twilight's rest — 
All, all in Thee is bright and blest. 



TUESDAY EVENING. 

The morn, when stepping down the hills — 

The noon, which all creation fills 

With glory — evening's placid fall — 

The twilight — and the raven pall 

Of midnight — all alike proclaim 

Thy great. Thine all-impressive Name. 



When in the darkness deep and dull 
The shining stars look beautiful ; 
When the blue heavens that we behold, 
Are sprinkled o'er with living gold, 
And the calm breeze speaks whisperingly- 
We hold communion. Lord 1 with Thee. 



A thousand suns around us rise, 

As bright as lamps of paradise ; 

While countless stars, commingling, play 

In yonder devious milky way ; 

And the tall hills and valleys deep, 

Are wrapt in calm and solemn sleep. 



And softly sink night's shades again 
Upon the shifting tents of men ; 



TUESDAY EVENING. 73 

And welcome is the evening hour, 
And sweet the midnight's magic power, 
Which through the silence of the air 
Visits die heart, and triunjphs there. 



'Tis still ! and darkness' mild control 
Revives, renev/s the wearied soul — 
Its mild, benignant influence 
Strengthens again th' exhausted sense ; 
And when the morning twilight breaks, 
A re-created man awakes. 

On tlie green branch the slumb'ring bird 
Broods calmly — in the woods is heard 
Nor voice, nor echo — silent all. 
Except the untired waterfall. 
That seems to ghde more sweetly on, 
Because its song is heard alone. 

But over all, — above, below. 
We see Thee — ever present Thou ! 
In every wand'ring rill that flows. 
In every gentle breeze that blows ; 
In every rising, setting sun, 
We trace Thee — own Thee — holy One ! 
7 



74 WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

Yes ! in the mid-day's fervid beams, 
And in the midnight's shadowy dreams, 
In action and repose, we see, 
We recognise and worship Thee : 
To Thee our worthiest songs would give. 
And in Thee die, and to Thee Hve. 



WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

Father ! at whose awakening nod 
The early day-break gilds the hills ; 
'Tis Thy almighty mandate, God ! 
Which mountain, valley, sea, and sod, 
With light and joy and glory fills. 



To Thee my spirit fain would soar, 
To Thee my trusting eye would look, 
In holiest confidence adore. 
And read with sweetest pleasure o'er 
Nature's impressive, varied book. 



WEDNESDAY MORNING. 75 

*Tis Thy benignant hand, that sheds 

Its light, its wisdom through our breast ; 

And, like a gentle shepherd, leads 

Thy wandering flocks through fruitful meads, 

To the calm fold of peace and rest. 



The peace w^hich earth hath never given, 
The pure, self-sacrificing love, 
The joy which flows alone from heaven. 
The silent bliss, like summer's even, ' 
The hope which has its shrine above : — 



All these, and more than these, are Thine ! 
The truth, which has its source in Thee, 
Who art all truth ! the strength divine 
Of virtue, and the golden mine 
Of dignified humanity. 



These are Thy gifts ; and these shall be 
My pure, habitual offering : 
Accept, great God of purity ! 
Accept, forgive benignantly. 
The imperfect tribute that I bring. 



76 WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

Lord ! when I seek Thy face, I feel 
I am but dust — the sprinkled dew 
Of morning : — but the tow'ring will 
That soars to heaven, is heavenly still — 
And man, though clay, is sjnrit too. 



Yes ! I can feel that, though a clod 
Of the dark vale, there is a sense 
Of better things— the fit abode 
Of something tending up to God — 
A germ of pure intelligence. 



I know not how th' Eternal hand 

Has moulded man — but this 1 know, 

That while 'midst earth's strange scenes I stand, 

Bright visions of a better land 

Go with me still, where'er I go. 



And surely dreams so pure, so sweet, 
Friendly to hope and joy and worth, 
Are not the phantoms of deceit, 
Delusions sent to blind, to cheat 
The weary, wand'ring sons of earth. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 77 

No ! no such dazzling errors these, 
As when, in Zara's deserts vast, 
The exhausted, panting traveller sees 
Bright lakes, that mock his miseries, 
And prove but burning sands at last. 

If in the breast of man there be 
(And sure as he exists there is) 
The seed of immortality. 
Who bids it grow there ? Who, but He 
Who destined him to endless bliss ? 

My God ! we are Thy offspring — time 
Is but our infancy — the earth 
Our cradle — but our home 's a clime 
Eternal, sorrowless, sublime — 
Heaven is the country of our birth ! 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

The day is past, — night's gentle power renews 
Its holy influence o'er created things ; 
The earth is bathed in evening's gentle dews, 
And over man sleep waves its plumy wings. 
7^ 



78 WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

So rolls life's day of brightness — and its eve 
Comes softly stealing, when the pilgrim tires ; 
We rest upon earth's silent lap, and leave 
Its busy cares, to sleep where slept our sires. 
Lo ! that sweet infant on its mother's breast, 
The proud world smiles around him, glad and gay ; 
But soon that bosom will be soothed to rest — 
And death shall sweep that laughing child away. 
No place is crowded like the peopled tomb ; 
Death from his victories reposes never ; 
Each moment 's pregnant with sorie moital's doom. 
And hearts are breaking — myriads mourning ever. 

Thou God of life ! thou Arbiter of death ! 
Thou wip'st the death-sweat from the cold pale 

brow, 
Thou listenest to the last departing breath, 
And linkest our hereafter to our now. 
O let that now roll tranquilly along. 
Gilded by that hereafter, — Spirit of love ! 
Let Thy kind angels round my footsteps throng, 
And point my hopes, my thoughts, my prayers 

above : 
And in the bed of sickness — or the tomb 
Of desolation, where my ashes rest — 
There may these holy visitations come, 
Ministering spirits from their regions blest. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 79 

And while I linger in this forest dark 

Of mortal life, let my aspiring eye 

Catch from the heavenly world one smiling spark 

To light my onward pilgrimage on high. 

Dull is the lightning to the meanest heam, 
Which e'en from heaven's exti*emest bound is 

driven ; 
The sun is darkness, to one ray from Him 
Who kindled all the fires of earth and heaven. 
All-kind, all-holy Father ! Thou whose grace 
Illumined every star that 's hung in air ; 
Guardian of nature ! Thou, whose glorious face 
Is shadow'd forth in all that 's bright or fair. 
There are ten thousand blessed spirits that roam 
O'er this dark world — and voices numberless — 
We hear them, but we know not whence they 

come : 
Ten thousand golden harps are strung, and bless 
With their soft music the delighted ear — 
It is from heaven, and heavenly is its tone — 
*' Holy ! " they cry — those choirs of angels hear ! 
" Thrice holy One ! " they sing, " Thrice holy 
One!" 



80 



THURSDAY MORNING. 

Come forth in thy purple robes again, 

Thou brightest star of heaven ! 
AnotJier day the Guardian of men 

Has to His children given. 
Receive the gift with gratitude ; 

My soul ! to thy Maker ascend, 
And bear thy songs to the Source of good. 

To thy Father and thy Friend. 

Bring him thy morning tribute meet, 

Devotion's offering ; 
How privileged to hold communion sweet 

With thine and creation's King ! 
1 look around, — a thousand things 

Enjoy the sunny beam : 
And nature her million voices brings 

To form an anthem to Him. 

O join the songs of the air, the grove, 
And the chorus of the sea ; 

For, hark ! the spirits of light above 
Re-echo the harmony. 



THURSDAY MORNING. 81 

And see ! ten thousand angels smile 

Through the firmament's golden doors ; 

And from silver clouds, heaven's hand the while 
Scatters our path with flowers. 

The senses indeed must be dark and dull, 

That in nature no charms can see ; 
For beauty's self is more beautiful 

To the eye of piety. 
And deaf indeed is the clay-cold ear 

That no sounds of music greet ; 
Though nought as the music of praise and prayer 

Is half so exquisite. 

And w^hy should man a distant bliss 

So eagerly, fondly chase, 
While the holy joys of a world like this 

Invite his present embrace ? 
Are the unknown beings of yonder zone 

More privileged dian we ? 
Does a shorter year, or a brighter sun, 

Imply felicity ? 

They may wander perchance in groves of palm. 
And dwell in palaces bright ; 



82 THURSDAY MORNING. 

They may breathe an air as sweet as balm, 
And be clad in robes of light : 

Yet there, as here, the fatal grave. 
Will o'er their possessions close ; 

And the more they hope, and the more they have, 
The more they are destined to lose. 

O let our portion content us then, 

The portion which God has given ; 
For man is the fair earth's denizen, 

And the heritor of heaven. 
Above him are gorgeous, golden clouds. 

That roll in glory afar ; 
And the night, which its bosom in darkness shrouds* 

Is spnnkled with many a star. 

And brighter and fairer than star or sun 

Is the light that beams from on high, 
A light which conducts its pilgrims on 

To the shrine of eternal joy : 
And thither our towering thoughts shall soar. 

And there the tired spirit shall rest ; 
While hope bursts open the heavenly door 

Of the mansions of the blest. 



85 



THURSDAY EVENING. 



Calm is the eve, and nature's wasting strength 
Is by the gentle influence of repose, 
Repair'd, rekindled ; — with the morning's dawn, 
As if new-born, the world awakes ; and throws 
The w^earying burden of existence down, 
When night invites to rest. 

And such new birth 
In soul and spirit well beseemeth man : 
His grosser part decays and dies away ; 
Then let him fan that bright immortal spark, 
Glimmering in the recesses of his heart, 
That lights up virtue's flame, and wisdom's torch — ■ 
The torch of heavenly wisdom ; — that pure star, 
Which shines as sweetly as Aldebaran 
Through the dark grating of a prison-house : 
Guided by this, man shall be free indeed 
In the transcendent glorious liberty 
Which our Deliverer wrought and perfected. 

He v/ho is born of the corporeal sense, 
Is but a heavy, useless mass obscure, 
Till lighted by the Spirit, that gives life 
And beauty and perfection. Then indeed 



84 THURSDAY EVENING. 

A glorious birth succeeds — the power of death 
Is broken, and the enfranchised prisoner walks 
In the expanse of heaven and blessedness I 
So privileged is regenerated man ! 
His influence is as gentle and as sweet 
As that of evening's breath, which silently 
Steals over nature — musical its voice. 
Unseen its workings, — but upon its wings 
Sit cheerfulness and health. The pilgrim feels 
Its fresh and honest greeting, and moves on, 
Cheer'd and supported. He has raised a pile 
To wisdom, and there worships, and there keeps 
Habitual court, and every morn and night 
Lights up pure inscense at the holy shrine. 
And takes another step tow'rds heaven and God* 
O Thou ! whose light-encircled throne is built 
Upon eternity — listen ! May his lot 
Be Thy now-worshiping servant's ; let my path 
Thus lead me to Thy presence. Even here 
I see Thy glory beaming thence — I hear, 
Amidst the harmony of thousand stars, 
Some angel-voice inviting ; — and I feel 
As if the garlands of celestial growth 
Had touch'd my forehead. O transporting dreams, 
Beautiful visions of that land of joy, 
Unveil'd by God, and clad in starry light ! 



FRIDAY MORNING. 85 

O privileged moment !' when the gates of heaven 
Glitter resplendently upon my view. 
In that soft light so sweetly shining now, 
Amidst those visions through the shades of time, 
Beneath those stars which so serenely smile — 
My heart shall be devoted all to Thee. 



FRIDAY MORNING. 

TO THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE GOD. 

(From the Spanish of Melendez.) 

First, Mightiest Deity ! Eternal Mind I 
Revealed — but hidden One ! 
Thou in a veil of fadeless glory shrined, 
Yet to all seen and known ! 
Holy Jehovah ! whose immortal essence 
I weigh not,— but confess — 
And feel Thy influence. Thy celestial presence, 
In all my happiness. 

All lives, all breathes, all vegetates in Thee ; 
Thy power all being gives ; 
The bird upsoars, the fish divides the sea — 
Man understands, and lives. 
8 



86 FRIDAY MORNING. 

The farther my inqiuring thoughts advance, 

The farther dost Thou fly — 

And nought I see, hut my own ignorance 

And Thy immensity. 

Thee, whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, 

How should those thoughts embrace ? 

My feeble reason strives and soars in vain 

Thy cloud-wTapt path to trace. 

That reason in the infinite recess 

Of dazzling light is drown'd, 

And, blinded in its night of nothingness, 

Bows, humbled to the ground. 

For if to man to know Thee it were given. 

He would be like to thee ; 

Would wrest Thy sceptre, and usurp in heaven 

Thy throne of majesty. 

But Thou art far beyond my knowledge, Lord ! 

Filling all space — all time. 

The first — the last — ungovern'd and adored, 

Thou mak'st Thy path sublime — 

Thou givest motion to the heavens — Thy hand 

Pours out the deep, proud sea : 

And the adamantine pillars of the land 

Are rear'd and propp'd by Thee. 

Thy way is in th' empyreum — and Thy feet 

Tread the eternal hills ; 



FRIDAY MORNING. S7 

Yet Thy eye visits death's profoundest pit, 

And night with brigiitness fills ; 

And from that car of light where Thou dost ride. 

Thine eye, serene and holy. 

Mourns over man's intolerable pride, 

Laughs at his towering folly. 

But Thou art vaster than the unbounded sky, 

And the unfathora'd ocean ; 

Thou art — and wert before eternity — 

Before or rest or motion. 

How shall I praise Thee ? — Seraphs, when they 

bring 
The homage of their lyre, 

Veil their bright face beneath their flaming wing, 
And tremble and retire. 
Eternal Majesty — immense abyss — 
Light and Infinity I 

Canst Thou unveil Thee to a worm like this ? 
No ! 'Tis all dark to me. 

Who art Thou ? Where ? O condescend to speak, 
And let Thy servant hear : — 

lend me wings — and I my God will seek 
Through every rolling sphere. 

1 '11 ask the rapid wind, I '11 ask the storm, 
1 '11 ask Orion bright — 

' Say, hast thou seen His venerable form. 
The shadow^ of His light ?* 



88 FRIDAY MORNING. 

I'll meet the comet in his fiery way, 

Stay Sirius on his road — 

I '11 stop the hurrying night, the hastening day, 

To tell me — Where is God ? 

I '11 ask — forgive my daring, gracious One ! 

And lead the wanderer home ; 

may I catch one light-beam from Thy throne, 
Through ages yet to come ! 

For how should earthly dust presume to rise 
So daringly, so high ? 

And how should dim and dying mortal eyes 
Bear splendours of the sky ? 

1 cannot bear them ; — but I feel, and know, 
That Thou art every where ; 

And worms and worlds — the lofty and the low, 

All, all thy power declare ; 

All, all Thy love proclaim — Thy power, and lovcj 

Obvious to every sense ; 

And heard in all, around, beneath, above, 

In varied eloquence. 

I see Thee in the flower — I feel Thee still 

In every breath of air, 

I hear Thee in the music of the rill : 

God ! Thou art every where. 

This is enough all sadness to control, 

All doubts and fears to chase } 



FRIDAY EVENING. 89 

And to shed over my enraptured soul 

The rivers of Thy grace. 

To contemplate — enjoy — admire — adore — 

And send sweet thoughts tow'rds heaven ; 

What can an earthly spirit ask for more ? 

What more to man be given ? 

Lost in Thy works, — yet full of humble trust, 

I close the worthless lay ; 

Bow down my reverent forehead in the dust, 

And in meek silence pray. 



* 



FRIDAY EVENING. 

Hour after hour steals rapidly away, 
Bearing past pleasures on its airy wings. 
E'en like die sunny clouds which evening's ray 
Gilds with ten thousand bright and beauteous 

things. 
Where are the million million actors now 
That once this busy scene of being trod ? 
All garner'd underneath the grassy sod. 
Sleeping yon heaps of turf, or stone, below ! 
8* 



90 FRIDAY EVENING. 

'Tis fleeting all, — all false : — in life's rude sea. 
Religion is the only towering rock ; 
A thousand ages roll on hurriedly — 
It stands unshaken by the billow's shock : 
It stands unshaken. Mountains tottering fall, 
Hills bow, — and forests, cities, shrines decay : 
There 's no security, no staff, nor stay — 
Time's mighty curtain must envelope all. 
But thou, heaven's daughter, hast in heaven thy 

throne. 
Thy chariot moves v-^ith the unclouded sun : 
Thy light, thy strength, immortal and alone, 
Roll in their full career of glory on. 
What though the door of evening's twilight close ? 
What though the voice of death may call aloud? 
In midnight's gloom a star of Eden glows — 
A beam of heavenly hope illumes the shroud. 

Fulfil thy journey, pilgrim ! all may fade. 
Fail, perish round thee — death shall dim thy eye. 
Shall freeze thy beating heart — and thou shalt lie 
A silent slumberer in the realms of shade ; 
Yet faint not, — fear not ! let thy nobler sense 
Look upward — it shall see delightful gleams 
Smiling from heaven — catch pure intelligence 
From realms of truth — and from the idle dreams 



FRIDAY EVENING. 91 

Of earth escaping, build a holy fane 
To those high principles, unshaken, real, 
Towering above these passing scenes ideal. 
Chase all the flitting clouds of time and pain. 

Ours is a faith nurtured and nourished 
In the inmost heart — but not imprison'd there — 
With holy thoughts and aspirations fed, 
The object of its worship always near : 
That object — the all-present Spirit of God — 
A spirit more diffused than is the light, 
(For it no twilight knows, nor clouds, nor night,) 
Beaming through all — yet fixing its abode 
In the recesses of the pious breast. 
Ye soft and beautiful dreams ! whose origin 
Is, when life's day is purest, holiest. 
Ere tinged by suffering, or stain'd by sin ; 
Growing with our growth and strengthening with 

our strength. 
And glowing in our full maturity, 
Till, mingled with our being, they shall be 
The links that bind us to our heaven at length. 

This world has nought to soothe or satisfy 
The spirit, save the lustre it receives 
(Like sun-beams glimmering through the dewy 

leaves) 
From the bright influence of eternity. 



92 



SATURDAY MORNING. 



The sand of another week has run, 
All but its last and closing day ; 
And its few remnant moments soon 
The common ruin will sweep away. 
Time hurries, as the sparkling ray 
That dances on the fleeting stream. 
Is life a dream ? — Ah ! if a dream, 
A dream of sad reality. 
Whether we trace the days gone by, 
Or to the cheating future look — 
'Tis all a dark and gloomy book, 
Which vice and folly, stubborn will, 
And silent blanks, and sorrow, fill. 
And so we are driven — driven ever, 
Down time's impetuous, wintry river. 
One is unchanged — and He alone ; 
Th' Immutable — the glorious One ! 
His plans are never thwarted — He 
For each his destined portion pours ; 
Drives these along the troubled sea, 
Those lands upon the peaceful shores. 
Who reads His mysteries ? — Who can tell 
The deep recesses of His plan ? — 



SATURDAY MORNING* 93 

Who sees the great Invisible ? 

Who can unveil a God to man ? 

None ! — but His love to each hath given 

A holy visitant from heaven ; 

A guardian spirit from that sphere. 

For an attending angel here ; — 

'Tis virtue ! and her kingdom stands 

Firmly erected in the breast : 

O see her lift her welcoming hands, 

And call her children to her rest. 

What fear they •*— Ever onwards prest 

From good to better, still improving^ — 

Now their bright thoughts o'er Eden roving. 

Now, in the midst of earthly night, 

Stretching an anxious, eager eye 

To realms of immortality ; 

And drinking in pure streams of light, 

From the eternal fountains flowing ; 

Gifts of joy on all bestowing — 

Wiping off the dewy tear 

That drops upon the sufferer's cheek 5 

Smiling on the pure, the meek, 

Like a heavenly comforter ; 

Through life's discords sweetly breathing 

Music soft as twilight hours 5 



94 SATURDAY MORNING. 

With llie thorny garland wreathing 
Lillies, roses, fairest flowers ; 
Looking beautifully through 
All the clouds of grief or scorn, 
As the primrose through the dew, 
Scatter'd by the hand of morn : 
Now on pinions of the air — 
Now on ocean — now on land, 
Tracing the Almighty hand 
All-directing, every where. 
In the blue expanse above — 
On earth's robe of green below 
Strewing beauty, shedding love : 
Stars that shine, and flowers that blow. 
Rills that musically flow. 
Mountains that majestic rise, 
Torches, altars, melodies — 
All Thou lovest, leadest, lightest: 
Thou, of all things holiest, brightest. 
Greatest, best ! Thy glorious praise 
Thus I utter lowly, lonely : 
Thou, my God, my Fadier only — 
Thus to Thee I tune my lays. 



95 



SATURDAY EVENING. 



Thro' the thick trees the evening breezes speak. 
And ripple the cahii surface of the lake ; 
And heaven is clad in its star-spangled robe ; 
While stillness lulls to rest the weary globe : 
Thus days and weeks roll on — thus all things 

tend, 
Through various issues to one common end. 

Now Night resumes her rest-compelling rod. 
And all is hush'd to soft repose, but God ! 
Now let my soul direct its flight to Him, 
And soaring o'er this shadowy darkness dim, 
Reach the loved threshold of His throne divine. 
And bring accepted tribute to His shrine. 

The week is past — the Sabbath dawn comes on : 
Rest — rest in peace — diy daily toil is done ; 
And standing, as thou standest, on the brink 
Of a new scene of being, calmly think 
Of what is gone, is now, and soon shall be — 
As one that trembles on eternity. 
For sure as this now-closing week is past, 
So sure advancing Time will close thy last ; 
Sure as to-morrow, shall the awful light 
Of the eternal morning hail thy sight. 



96 SATURDAY EVENING. 

Spirit of Good ! on this week's verge I stand, 
Tracing the guiding influence of Thy hand ; 
That hand which leads me gently, kindly still 
Up life's dark, stony, tiresome, thorny hill : 
Thou, Thou in every storm hast shelter'd me 
Beneath the wing of Thy benignity ; — 
A thousand graves my footstep circumvent, 
And I exist — Thy mercy's monument I 
A thousand writhe upon the bed of pain — 
I live — and pleasure flows through every vein. 
Want o'er a thousand wretches waves her wand — 
I, circled by ten thousand mercies, stand. 
How can I praise Thee, Father ! how express 
My debt of reverence and of thankfulness ? 
A debt that no intelligence can count, 
While every moment swells its vast amount. 

For the week's duties Thou hast given me 
strength, 
And brought me to its tranquil close at length, 
And here my grateful bosom fain would raise 
A fresh memorial to Thy glorious praise : 
And if inspired by reverent trust, — and free 
From vain presumption, it may reach e'en Thee ; 
But ah ! the least of all Thy gifts exceeds 
The best, the holiest of my thoughts or deeds. 



SATURDAY EVENING. 97 

Were 1 but worthy of Thy love ! — I will — 

If Thy pure spirit help me to fulfil 

This solemn pledge : I will — Thy blessing, Lord, 

Shall give a sacred influence to the word, 

And hallow and confirm the humble vow — 

My Friend, my Father ! O confirm it now ! 



THIRD WEEK. 



AUTUMN. 



101 



SUNDAY MORNING. 

Of all the gifts conferr'd by Heaven, 
Time is the brightest — is the best : 
Through time, eternity is given ; 
By earthly labours — heavenly rest. 

While days and weeks pass gently by, 
How little do we deem that these 
Are germs of immortality — 
The buds of mightiest destinies ! 

Yet not too fondly let us trust 
The flitting, fading morning's ray : 
All earthly promises are dust ; 
All earthly pyramids are clay. 

Time's visions are but treachery, 
Soon wreck'd on dark oblivion's wave 5 
Its paths, however bright they be, 
Lead to one common spot — the grave. 
9* 



102 SUNDAY MORNING. 

The grave may bound the views of some- 

To me it is no boundary ; 

For the dull prison of the tomb 

Is but the gate of life to me. 

I will not seek my birthright here ; 
A few vile pageants — grasp them — they, 
Though bright and shining they appear, 
Melt into air, and pass away. 

My hopes are higher, nobler far — 
They are immortal, splendid, bright ; 
Pure, lofty as yon morning star. 
That shines with clear and holy light. 

My thoughts ascend above the earth. 
And seek their primal, proud abode ; 
The country of their heavenly birth. 
The land of peace, of joy, of God. 

My mortal robes I'll cast aside, 
And there be clad as angels are — 
And with the Sun in glory ride. 
On his fire-girded, dazzling car — 



SUNDAY MORNING. 103 

Wherever joy or virtue is — 
Farther than eye could e'er discern : — 
Strange ! that a world so mean as this 
Should e'er engage my chief concern. 

Strange ! that these fleeting, fading forms, 
Which Heaven has named immortal men, 
Rising from dust like reptile worms, 
So turn to vilest dust again. 

Strange ! that this nobly fashion'd mould, 
In which a very god might dw^ell, 
Should only live to dig for gold — 
And perish in its narrow cell. 

Strange ! when that shining, shifting ore 
Is but delusive, dazzling clay — 
A shell men grasp — and grasp no more, 
E'en while they throw the pearl away. 

A higher destiny is mine, 
And brighter hopes, and holier cares ; 
Thoughts stretching on to joys divine ; 
Hours pregnant with eternal years ! 



104 



SUNDAY EVENING. 

Welcome the hour of sweet repose, 
The evening of the Sabbath day ! 
In peace my wearied eyes shall close 
When I have tuned my vesper lay 
In humble gratitude to Him 
Who waked the morning's earliest beam. 



In such an hour as this, how sweet, 
In the calm solitude of even, 
To hold with heaven communion meet, 
Meet for a spirit bound to heaven ; 
And, in this wilderness beneath, 
Pure zephyrs from above to breathe ! 



It may be that the Eternal Mind 

Bends sometimes from His throne of bliss ', 

Where should we then His presence find, 

But in an hour so blest as this — 

An hour of calm tranquillity, 

Silent, as if to welcome Thee ? 



SUNDAY EVENING. 105 

Yes ! if the Great Invisible, 
Descending from His seat divine, 
May deign upon this earth to dwell — 
Where shall He find a welcoming shrine, 
But in the breast of man, who bears 
His image, and His Spirit shares ? 

Now let the solemn thought pervade 

My soul, — and let my heart prepare 

A throne : — Come, veil'd in awful shade, 

Spirit of God ! that I may dare 

Hail Thee ! — nor, like Thy prophet, be 

Blinded by Thy bright majesty. 

Then turn my wandering thoughts within. 
To hold communion. Lord ! with Thee ; 
And, purified from taint of sin 
And earth's pollutions, let me see 
Thine image, — for a moment prove, 
If not Thy majesty. Thy love — 

That love which over all is shed — 
Shed on the worthless as the just ; 
Lighting the stars above our head. 
And waking beauty out of dust ; 



106 SUNDAY EVENING. 

And rolling in its glorious way 
Beyond the farthest comet's ray. 



To Him alike the living stream 
And the dull region of the grave : 
All watch'd, protected all, by Him, 
Whose eye can see, whose arm can save. 
In the cold midnight's dangerous gloom, 
Or the dark prison of the tomb. 



Thither we hasten — as the sand 
Drops in the hour-glass, never still, 
So, gather'd in by Death's rude hand, 
The storehouse of the grave we fill ; 
And sleep in peace, as safely kept 
As when on earth we smiled or wept. 



What is our duty here ? — To tend 
From good to better — thence to best : 
Grateful to drink life's cup, — then bend 
Unmurmuring to our bed of rest ; 
To pluck the flowers that round us blow. 
Scattering their fragrance as we go. 



MONDAY MORNING. 107 

And so to live, that when the sun 

Of our existence sinks in night, 

Memorials sweet of mercies done 

May 'shrine our names in Memory's light ; 

And the blest seeds we scatter'd, bloom 

A hundred fold in days to come. 



MONDAY MORNING. 

Waked by Thy sun, again my thoughts ascend 
To Thee, my heavenly Father ! and they blend 
In one devotional hymn of praise and prayer. 
All-present Being ! now the morning air 
Is calm, is fragrant with Thy Spirit — bright 
With the reflected influence of Thy light. 
The trees are bending with Thy rich supplies ; 
It is Thy beauty-giving hand that dies 
The purple grape, — that thro' the vales, the meads, 
The many-colour'd flowers wide-blooming spreads ; 
Crimsons the downy peach, — and skirts the wood 
With many a golden ridge, — and tips the flood 



108 MONDAY MORNING. 

With radiance stolen from heaven : the praise be 

Thine, 
Father, Creator, Leader, King Divine ! 
Eternal Source of joy ! 'tis Thou dost bless 
With all we hope for, all that we possess : 
When the world sleeps in darkness, Thy pure eye 
Looks sweetly out on its obscurity ; 
Until the awaken'd Sun his standard rears. 
And in his glorious crown of light appears 
Rising o'er the orient mountains ; life, renew'd, 
Re-animates the busy multitude 
That swarms upon Earth's bosom. — Joy again 
Waves her bright wing over the countless train 
Of beings, whom Heaven's never-sleeping eye 
Watch'd through the night, and now to the energy 
Of day recalls. — I bow myself in dust, 
And feel Thy awful hand sublime and just, 
And own Thy hallo w'd presence — for I see 
O'er all, and in all, Thy benignity. 
And I would kiss Thy rod — and to Thee fly, 
As my best refuge : Thou art ever nigh. 
E'en in the shades of earth — and brighter still. 
Beyond the summit of that clouded hill 
Which veils futurity. — Now hear my prayer, 
And be Thy staff my guide, my steps Thy care ; 
Thy call I follow, summon where it may ; 
Thy hand shall guide, where'er it points the way : 



MONDAY EVENING. 109 

Thy light illumine, and Thy Spirit cheer; 
Thy influence, ever active, ever near, 
Shall gild the smiling hour with brighter ray, 
And give to darkness some sweet gleams of day ; 
Shall lead us gently through our pilgrimage, 
And drop us safely in the lap of age ; 
And watch our bed of slumber, — and awake 
From the grave's dreams, when that great morn 

shall break , 
Upon the realms of death — and waft us on, 
Borne on Faith's pinions to the Eternal's throne. 



MONDAY EVENING. 

O God ! Thy kingdom is a mansion bright, 
Where peace and joy and truth and love and light 
Mingle harmoniously ; while like a sun 
Thine eye of holiness looks sweetly down. 
There the heart rests 'midst sacred visions, beaming 
From yon side death, — whence tides of splendour 

streaming. 
Bear from heaven's throne — heaven's glowing 

golden seat. 
An effluence of glory infinite ; 
10 



no MONDAY EVENING. 

Covering the earth with hope and blessedness, 
And wiping the wet eyelids of distress ; 
Guiding the blind, encouraging the weak, 
And teaching even lisping tongues to speak 
In accents of devotion ; — those who fall 
Upraising, hghting, leading, blessing all. 

In the soft stillness of obscurity. 
The hour of calm, the hour of ecstacy. 
In hope, in memory, in the thoughts that rise 
Beyond the clouded mansions of the skies. 
In all on earth that 's heavenly — all above — 
Tempering with earthly memories, earthly love — 
Where'er there 's joy. Thy shadow'd Presence is, 
And the whole universe is full of bliss ; 
For earth is link'd to heaven — and all we see 
And suffer, ripens to felicity. 

There is a Spirit o'er creation spread, 
Though darkness draw its curtains round our head. 
And sorrow's streams flow at our mortal feet, — 
There is a Spirit, sanctified and sweet, 
That breathes of other scenes and holier things, 
Broods o'er the earth with healing on its wings, 
And is an angel-messenger from heaven : 
There is a Spirit to our spirits given. 
Which holds communion with our nobler part, 
That sheds a hallow'd influence on our heart ; 



MONDAY EVENING. Ill 

Gives pinions to our thoughts, and to our prayers, 

And harmonizes all our doubts and cares 

To meek submission — an intelligence 

That gladdens with its living influence 

All space, all time, — and trains our earthly eye 

To bear the blaze of immortality. 

As in the silence of ,a cloudless night 
The gentle moon disperses her soft light 
Through the low murmuring trees which evening's 

gale 
Plays on in sportiveness 'midst shadows pale, 
And the earth sleeps beneath the sway serene 
Of midnight's chaste and glory-circled queen ; 
So in the calm of holiness, the soul 
Reposes 'neath Religion's blest control. 
Lighted with radiance from a higher sphere : 
Nor shall that radiance e'er desert us here, 
Till all our earthly labours shall be done, 
And we be gather 'd homeward one by one. 



112 



TUESDAY MORNING. 



The stars have sunk in yon concave blue, 
And the sun is peeping through the dew ; 
Thy Spirit, Lord ! doth Nature fill — 
Before Thee angels' tongues are still, 
And seraphs hush their golden strings 
In Thy high presence. King of kings ! 
How then shall I, a clod of clay, 
Or lift my voice, or tune my lay ? 

Thou ! who the realms of space and time 
Dost people with Thy might sublime ; 
Whose power is felt below, above, 
Felt in Thy wisdom, in Thy love ; 
Whose awful voice is heard around, 
Heard in its silence as its sound ; 
Whose lovely Spirit doth pervade 
Alike the sunshine and the shade. 
And shines and smiles in sorrow's night 
As clearly as in pleasure's light. 
Thou in the evening's silence deep 
Cradlest the weary world in sleep ; 



TUESDAY MORNING. 113 

And when the sun mounts o'er the hill, 
Call'st us our duties to fulfil. 

'Tis Thou who o'er the billowy sea 
Dost ride in awful majesty, 
Walkest sublime on the winds, and greetest 
The Spirit of the day, when fairest and sweetest 
It fills the bosom of nature with bliss — 
In moments as calm and holy as this. 
We see Thee then in light arrayed, 
Dispersing all the twilight's shade. 
Tuning the music of the bee, 
Painting the flowers' variety, 
Waking the thousand smiles that are playing 
On morning's cheeks, — and viewless straying 
With the mild breeze, over hill and plain. 
Turning to gold the autumnal grain ; 
Giving the rose its blushing hue. 
Changing to diamonds drops of dew. 
Gathering the vapours from the main, 
Scattering them o'er the earth again : 
Then it is that Nature's throng 
Join in the joyous, general song ; 
Then Thy Spirit shines brighter, clearer ; 
Then Thy voice speaks softer, nearer 5 
Then Thy sun would seem to wear 
His festal robes of beauty rare, 
10* 



114 TUESDAY EVENING. 

And all creation, glad and gay, 
Revels as in a holiday. 

Lord ! Thou hast thunders — ^but they sleep ; 
Storms — but they now their prisons keep : 
Nothing is breathing below, above, 
But the spirit of harmony, joy, and love ; 
Nothing is seen or heard around, 
But beauty's smiles and music's sound : 
Music re-echoed in earth and air, 
Beauty that 's visible every where. 
Join the concert — share the joy ; 
Why should the cares of earth alloy 
Pleasures which heaven itself has given. 
Heavenly pleasures, which lead to heaven ? 



TUESDAY EVENING. 

Stillness reigns — the vapours steal 
Sbwly down the mountain's brow, 
And the evening shadows veil 
Nature's face of brightness now ; 



TUESDAY EVENING. 115 

Flowers put off their glorious dress, 
All the morning smiles are fled, 
Earth is wrapt in loneliness 
And the silence of the dead. 



Thus beneath the hand of God 
Nature wakes and sleeps ; but still 
AU-obedient to His nod, 
All-submissive to His will. 
So we flourish — so we fade : 
Drinking now life's cup of joy, 
Now on nature's bosom laid, 
Treasured for eternity. 



All is mortal but the soul, 
Whose undying energy 
Spurns the fettering world's control, 
And upsoars, my God, to Thee. 
When life's evening twilight shrouds 
All our thoughts with care and gloom. 
Then Thy sunshine breaks the clouds 
Gather'd o'er the wintry tomb. 



11(3 TUESDAY EVENING. 

Desolate the path appears 
To the dim and distant eye ; 
Yet that path of darkness bears 
Flowers of immortality. 
O'er it shine eternal lamps ; 
And the mists so dark that seem, 
Are like morning's chilly damps 
Heralding the sunny beam. 



Father ! Thy paternal care 
Has my guardian been, my guide ; 
Every hallow'd wish and prayer 
Has Thy hand of love supplied ; 
Thine is every thought of bliss, 
Left by hours and days gone by ; 
Every hope Thy offspring is, 
Beaming from futurity. 



Every sun of splendid ray ; 
Every moon that shines serene ; 
Every morn that welcomes day ; 
Every evening's twilight scene ; 



TUESDAY EVENING. 11 

Every hour which wisdom brings ; 
Every incense at Thy shrine ; 
These — and all life's holiest things, 
And its fairest, — all are Thine. 



And for all, my hymns shall rise 
Daily to Thy gracious throne : 
Thither let my asking eyes 
Turn unwearied — righteous One ! 
Through life's strange vicissitude 
There reposing all my care, 
Trusting still through ill and good, 
Fix'd and cheer'd and counsell'd there. 



All besides is weak indeed, 
Dreams of folly — baseless hope. 
Earth is but a broken reed : 
Heaven the best, the only prop. 
Who would live, to raise on earth 
Some frail pile of dust — and die ? 
Man is of immortal birth. 
Living for eternity. 



lis 

WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

Extinguish'd is the last lone star, 
The shadows of night are gone, 
And lo ! in the east, day's golden car 
Is fill'd by the glorious sun. 
And list ! for a thousand voices call — 
The spirits of life and love — 
Attune your hymns to the Father of all. 
The Sovereign who reigns above. 

'Tis He who opens the eastern gates, 
Who kindles the morning's ray ; 
'Tis He whose Spirit all animates, 
And the darkness and the day. 
All the glories of the field are His 
All the music of the sky ; 
The light of hope and the smile of bliss, 
And nature's song of joy. 

His temple is yon arch sublime. 
Its pillars the eternal hills ; 
His chorus the solemn voice of time. 
Which all creation fills. 



WEDNESDAY MORNING. 119 

His worshippers are the countless train 
Which the lap of nature bears, 
And the boisterous wind, and the raging main, 
And the silence of the spheres. 



He rides unseen on the hurrying storm, 

He sits on the whirlwind's car ; 

He wraps in clouds His awful form. 

And travels from star to star. 

A thousand messengers wait His will, 

A million heralds fly, 

His glorious mandates to fulfil, 

On the wing eternally. 



He smiles — and worlds spring forth to birth. 

And suns in new glory rise ; 

He frowns — and darkness clothes the earth, 

And mantles the frighted skies. 

Dost thou think He speaks in the thunder's roar, 

Or shines in the Hghtning's beam ? 

Vain man ! no thought of thine can soar 

To anv^ concention of Him. 



120 WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

His strength no perishing tongue can tell, 

Nor immortal hymns rehearse ; 

'Tis high as heaven, 'tis deep as hell, 

And wide as the universe : 

The ocean to Him is a dewdrop small, 

The mountains an atom of sand 5 

And the sun and the stars, and this earthly ball, 

Are dust in His mighty hand. 

And O ! can a Being so great as He 
Bend down to the earth His ear ? 
Can children of clay, so frail as we. 
In His awful presence appear ? 
O yes ! to His throne even we may rise ; 
To us is His promise given ; 
For a broken heart is a sacrifice 
Which will find its way to heaven. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

The evening star is aloft in heaven, 

Palely it shines alone ; 
And nought is awake in the eye of even? 

But the never-sleeping One. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 121 

He mildly looks from His throne sublime, 

Higher than mortal ken, 
On the strange vicissitudes of time, 

And stranger follies of men. 



From thence our insolent race he scans ; 

They flutter and pass away, 
And all their pursuits and all their plans 

Are e'en more fragile than they. 
They build vain visions of hope, and all, 

All for their own undoing : 
They raise the pile to folly — and fall 

Buried beneath its ruin. 



Is all then folly ? — O heaven forbid ! 

Is all delusive beneath ? 
No ! virtue may build her pyramid. 

Peace twine her myrtle wreath. 
Is all then darkness, all despair, — 

Is all then discord ? — No ! 
Earth has joys as bright as sunbeams are ; 

There 's music of heaven below. 
11 



122 AVEDNESDAY EVENING. 

Follow yon holy pilgrim there, 

His path is as clear as day ; 
A thousand angels hovering near 

To guide him on his way : 
Though mountains tremble and rocks should 
break. 

He is firmer far than they ; 
If he slumber, his spirit shall soon awake 

To a glorious morning's ray. 



Our bark is driven by joy and woe 

O'er the ever-changing wave. 
And the moon, which lights our footsteps now, 

Will shine upon our grave. 
x\nd then for ever the glorious one 

Shall sink in the tomb-like main : 
O blest, if a brighter, purer sun 

Shall beam on our rising then ! 



Great day ! when a million lamps shall shine, 

With heavenly ether blaze ; 
When a thousand rainbows of light divine 

Shall arch the eternal space. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING 123 

Above the highest worshipper, 

On His star-encircled throne 
He sits — whose hand shall then confer 

On merit its amaranth crown. 



The meekest servant, the humblest son 

Of virtue, His smile shall bless ; 
And shall put a wreath of glory on 

The spirit of lowhness. 
The children of pomp and wealth and pride, 

Shall be met with a cold disdain, 
There 's many a slave shall be deified, 

And many a scorn'd one reign. 



There are eyes that have never shed a tear 

Of sympathy or distress. 
That shall weep and wail for ages there 

In trembling hopelessness. 
There are cheeks that misery's dewdrops now 

Have furrow'd with agony. 
That then shall be bright with the holy glow 

Of eternal felicity. 



124 THURSDAY MORNING. 

Then let the sands of existence fall, 

The current of life flow fast ; 
Our times are in God's own hand, and all, 

AH will be well at last. 
If bitterness dre^ our earthly cup. 

If sorrow disturb our career } 
Eternity's joys can well fill up 

The chasms of suffering here. 



THURSDAY MORNING. " 

The orient is lighted with crimson glow, 

The night and its dreams are fled, 
And the glorious roll of nature now 

Is in all its brightness spread. 
The autumn has ting'd the trees with gold, 

And crimson'd the shrubs of the hills ; 
And the full seed sleeps in earth's bosom cold ; 

And hope all the universe fills. 

Hope gladdens the world with its living ray, 

And smiles serenely on all ; 
It scatters a thousand charms in its way 

Over this earthly ball : 



THURSDAY MORNING. 12i 

It has streams of peace, and joy, and love, 
To water this valley of death ; 

And brings the flowers of heaven from above 
For virtue's undying wreath. 



O say hast thou watch'd the maternal care, 

Smiling on infancy? 
O say, hast thou seen the joy-born tear, 

Bright in a mother's eye ? 
Hast thou mark'd the babe on her bosom mild, 

Slumbering in innocence yet? — 
O she may forget that lovely child ; 

But God can never forget. 



That God in his equal scales hath weigh'd 

Our share of evil and good ; 
He hath blended our portion of light and shade 

In a wise vicissitude. 
He has temper'd our sunshine with sober gloom, 

Lest its light should dazzle our sense ; 
And has given a warning voice to the tomb, 

To summon our thoughts from hence. 



126 THURSDAY MORNING. 

To Thee will I look, in Thee confide, 

For my times are in Thy right hand ; 
And O ! to my spirit be sanctified 

Whatever Thy wisdom has plann'd. 
My heart shall never 'gainst Thee rebel, 

My soul no murmurer be ; 
For all is conducted wisely, well. 

Since all is conducted by Thee. 



O ne'er be that Father forgotten by me. 

Who never His children forgot : 
The fountain of wisdom and virtue is He, 

To each He apportions his lot. 
He is light, and knowledge, and purity ; 

We darkness and doubt alone : 
The fragile children of dust are we. 

And He— The Eternal One. 



His years decay not — He sits sublime 
On eternity's glowing car ; 

His ages are measured not by time. 
And the days that departed are 



THURSDAY EVENING. 127 

Add nothing to His existence ; — nought 
Shall be added by coming years : 

But here man's utmost stretch of thought 
Helpless and vain appears. 



Our days like the leaves of autumn fall ; 

And yet a few mornings more, 
And the bell shall toll for our funeral, 

Aud the dream of life be o'er. 
The sun may in clouds and storm descend, 

And the shades of night appear ; 
My Father is there, my heavenly Friend, 

O what should my spirit fear ? 



THURSDAY EVENING. 
THE PRESENCE OF GOD. 

(From the Spanish of Melendez.) 

Where'er I turn my restless eye, 

Wandering from earth to heaven, from sphere to 

sphere, 
Great God ! 1 feel Thy present Deity, 
Every where feel Thee — Thou art every where. 



128 THURSDAY EVENING. 

Yes ! Thou art there — above th' empyreum high, 

Veiled all in light : 

Filling creation with Thy presence bright, 

With the proud splendour of Thy majesty. 

The little flower that grows 

Beneath me, the gigantic mountain steep, 

Whose brow is cover'd with eternal snows, 

^ hose roots are planted in the deep ; 

The breeze that murmuring blows 

Among the green leaves, rustling in the sun, 

And yonder glorious star, advancing on, 

Gladdening earth, heaven, and all things as he goes ' 

These tell me that 'tis Thou 

Who giv'st that sun his brightness — Thou whose 

wing. 
Upon the rapid whirlwind journeying. 
From the Aurora to the West doth go ; 
And that the mountain's towering height 
Is Thy majestic throne ; 
And that the flower which breathes and blooms 

alone. 
Breathes, blooms in Thy pure sight. 
'Tis Thy immensity 

Which compasses all this, and more ; confest, 
As in the greatest, — in the least ; — 
Atom — or comet blazing through the sky : 
Thine is the circling robo 



THURSDAY EVENING. 129 

Of darkness — Thine the subtle veil 

Of the opening morning pale, 

When first she throws her glories o'er the globe. 

And when the spring descends 

On the wide world, and decks her joyous bowers, 

Thou smilest gently in her loveliest flowers ; 

Thy spirit with her sweetest odours blends. 

When the red Sirius bears 

His burning ardours through the summer hour, 

Thy breezes play among the swelling ears, 

And calm and temper his too-furious power. 

I seek the leafy shade, 

And Thou art there ; — among the welcoming trees, 

I feel Thy visitings in the freshen'd breeze ; 

My spirit rests — my cares, my sorrows fade. 

Then a religious fear 
Troubles my bosom — and I hear a sound : 
' Humbly adore Him here, 
In this mysterious solitude profound.' 
Thou art upon the mighty waves 
Of the deep sea ; and Thou dost bind 
The bursting fury of the wind — 
Or let it loose, when the wild tempest raves. 
Where'er I go, where'er I turn, 
I see Thee, feel Thee ! — in the flowery mead, 
As in the starry field above our head, 



130 THURSDAY EVENING. 

Where such unnumber'd torches burn. 

Thou art the God of atoms — as of suns ! 

Of the poor, perishing worm 

That in the dust the eye of mortals shuns ; 

Or angels pure, who veil their dazzled form 

Before Thee ! — Thou dost hear the hymn 

Of this Thy lowly worshipper : — of the poor 

And innocent lamb the bleatings — as the roar 

Of the fierce lion, — or of seraphim 

The anthem ; and to all beneficent 

Thou bendest down Thine ear and givest 

Their destined portion. Thou, who reignest, livest 

Eternally, the offering I present 

Accept in mercy, — mercifully view 

This transitory being, — let me stand 

As ever in Thy presence — see Thy hand 

In all things and in all Thy wisdom too. 

Fill up my mounting soul 

Whh holy ardour, — that where'er I tread, 

Like Thee I may a blessed influence shed. 

And own Thee, trace Thee through the extended 

whole 
Of the wide universe. The race of man 
Are all Thy sons — the Tartar, Laplander, 
Rude Indian, and the sun-burnt African — 
Thine image all — and all my brethren are. 



131 



FRIDAY MORNING. 

This is the day, when prejudice and guilt 

The blood of innocence and virtue spilt ! 

' Twas in those orient Syrian lands afar, 

O'er whose high mountains towers the morning 

star : 
Lands now to tyranny and treachery given, 
But then the special care and charge of Heaven : 
Lands now by ignorance and darkness trod. 
Then shining brightest in the light of God ! 

Holiest and best of men I 'twas there thou 

walkedst. 
There with thy faithful, privileged followers talk- 

edst ; 
Privileged indeed, listening to truth divine 
Breathed from a heart, and taught by lips, like 

thine ! 
He that from all life's strange vicissitude 
Drew forth the living, hidden soul of good ; 
And in the strength of wisdom, and the might 
Of peaceful virtue fought, and won the fight : 
His armour righteousness — his conquering sword 
A spiritual weapon — his prophetic word, 



132 FRIDAY MORNING. 

The arms of truth, — his banners from above — 
His conquests meekness, and his warfare love. 
He stands a pillar 'midst his children ; grace 
And majesty and truth illume his face ; 
He bows his head, and dies ! The very rock 
Is rent, and Zion trembles at the shock ! 
But, though he dies, he triumphs — and in vain 
Would unbelief oppose his conquering reign ; 
A reign o'erspreading nature — gathering in 
Kindreds and nations frOm the tents of sin 
To virtue's temple. O how calm, how great, 
A death like this ! — Come, then, and venerate 
Your Saviour and your King. All hail ! All hail ! 
The songs of gratitude shall fill the vale. 
And echo from the mountains, and shall rise 
In one consenting tribute to the skies. 

Sow then thy seed — that seed will spring, and 

give 
Rich fruits and fairest flowers, that will survive 
All chance, all change : and though the night may 

come. 
And though the deeper darkness of the tomb, 
A sun more bright than ours shall bid them grow 
And on the very grave hope's buds will blow, 



FRIDAY EVENING. 133 

And blow like those sweet flowers that, pluck'd, 

ne'er lose 
Their freshness, nor their fragrance, nor their hues. 

Now the day calls us with its eloquent ray ; 
O let us toil unwearied while 'tis day. 
For the night cometh, all enveloping — 
But virtue, that on spiritual soaring wing 
Flies to its rest I 'Tis but a pilgrim here, 
Shaping its course towards a better sphere, 
Where its own mansion is ; yet, in its flight. 
Dropping from its pinions healing and delight ; 
And from the darkest shades, like some fair star 
Of midnight, scattering beams of light afar. 



FRIDAY EVENING. 

Father ! Source of light and love ! 
Thou, whose throne of majesty, 
Fix'd yon thousand suns above, 
Gladdens all the earth with joy : 
Mercy-streaming, promise-beaming, 
Let Thy praise my soul employ. 



What is man, that he should share 
bri: 
12 



Goodness bright and blest as Thine 



134 FRIDAY EVENING. 

What is man, that heavenly care, 
Heavenly kindness, power divine, 
Ever guiding, joy-betiding, 
Should be his, and should be mine ? 

From this narrow vale of clay 

Let me waft my thoughts to Thee ; 

Soar from night to heavenly day, 

And in Thy benignity 

Seek my pleasures — hoard my treasures ; 

Earth can be no home to me. 

On Thy holy name I call ; 
On Thy sacred footstool stand ; 
All sprung forth from good — and all 
Tends to good beneath Thy hand : 
Streams the purest, joys the surest, 
Flow and smile at Thy command. 

When the earth is clad in gloom. 
And the dark clouds coldly frown, 
Nature — like a wintry tomb 
Wrapt in mists — its brightness gone, — 
Lustre shedding, pleasure spreading, 
Then Thy sun shines out alone. 



FRIDAY EVENING. 135 

Grey mists gather o'er the waves, 
Dry leaves rustle in the rain, 
Visions haunt the hilly graves. 
And death's hour-glass turns again : 
Solemn warning — night and mornings 
To the careless crowds of men. 



Know ye how, ye idle ones ! 
Sporting by the torrent's side. 
Know ye how existence runs 
To the eternal ocean's tide ; 
Bliss alloying, hope distroying, 
Scattering joy in ruins wide ? 

Careless wanderer ! ne'er forget 
All the dangers threatening o'er ; — 
Do hope's dreams delude thee yet t 
Soon they shall delude no more : 
Hope is faithless, tired, and breathless ; 
Oft 'tis wreck'd on sorrow's shore 

Hope, that builds its airy schemes 
On time's transitory star, 
Revels in delusive dreams. 
Which an ignis fatuus are : 



1 36 SATURDAY MORNING. 

Ever smiling, and beguiling, 
Still misleading pilgrims far. 

But the hope, the faith, whose tower 
Stands upon heaven's arches high, 
Well supported by the power 
Of eternal prophecy. 
Firm-erected, heaven-protected 
Never can in ruins lie. 



SATURDAY MORNING. 

The sun comes forward in his purple robe 
From the dark chambers of the tranquil night ; 
The smiles of morning gild the gladden'd globe, 
And all the world is bathed in liquid light. 
Now love and pleasure sing their choral song ; 
And springing to a renovated birth, 
A thousand spirits of joy and music throng 
The wide, magnificent expanse of earth. 
As fresh, as if the intelligent Former's hand 
Had waked its earliest smile of bliss to-day ; 
Bright as if even now the enamell'd land 
First sprung to being 'neath his living ray ; 



SATURDAY MORNING. 137 

So rises nature from her nightly sleep 
Joyous, — till evening's darkening shades descend, 
And then she sinks again in silence deep : — 
Emblem of man ! whose hurried footsteps tend 
With daily impulse towards the welcoming tomb. 
Father ! to Thee my eager spirit turns, 
While joy and gratitude my path illume. 
And with rekindled praise my bosom burns. 
My eye looks far beyond the stars : I breathe 
The breath of heaven : angels of peace, of light, 
Wave their wings o'er me — and the vale of death 
Is with Thy radiance beautiful and bright. 

Yes Father ! all that 's lovely is from Thee ; 
All that is pure and excellent is Thine. 
Praise Him, thou morning sun of majesty ! 
Thou moon of midnight, in His glory shine ! 
Him worship, thou fair stream of hfe ; — adore 
His name, thou sad machinery of decay ! 
Sing His high praise, ye planets shining o'er ; 
Ye worms of dust ! come, join the general lay. 
My soul shall speak Thy glory — hymn more sweet 
Never inspired the lyre ; — and never seer 
Nor prophet "sought a theme more pure, more 

meet. 
And never pilgrim, saint, nor worshipper, 
12* 



138 SATUEDAY EVENING* 

Found a sublimer thought to dwell upon : 
Thy glory ! — 'tis a thought absorbing all — 
E'en like the splendid, ever-radiant sun, 
Scattering the mists that with the morning fall. 

And thus let week on week roll swiftly by, 
Each in its hurrying career must bring 
Our spirits nearer to eternity : 
And every moment in its course shall fling 
Some mortal vestments down — until at last, 
Hope smiling sweetly through the future hours, 
And joyous memory gilding all the past. 
The mind shall reach those amaranthine bowers 
Which dawn upon the dreaming poet's eye : 
And, resting there on immortality, 
Drink in the stream of never-dying joy 



SATURDAY EVENING. 

The cold wind strips the yellow leaf. 
The stars are twinkling faintly o'er us ; 
All nature wears her garb of grief : 
While day's fair book is closed before us. 



SATURDAY EVENING. 139 

The songs have ceased, — and busy men 
Are to their beds of silence creeping ; 
The pale, cold moon looks out again 
On the tired world so softly sleeping. 

O ! in an hour so still as this, 
From care, and toil, and tumult stealing, 
I'll consecrate an hour to bliss — 
To meek devotion's holy feeling : 

And rise to Thee — to Thee, whose hand 
Unroll'd the golden map of heaven ; 
Mantled with beauty all the land ; 
Gave light to morn, and shade to even. 

Being, whose all-pervading might 
The laws of countless worlds disposes ; 
Yet gives the sparkling dews their light — 
Their beauty to the blushing roses : 

Thou, Ruler of our destiny ! 
With million gifts hast Thou supplied us, 
Hidden from our view futurity, 
Unveiling all the past to guide us. 



140 SATURDAY EVENING. 

Though dark may be earth's vale, and damp, 
A thousand stars shine sweetly o'er us, 
And immortahty's pure lamp 
Gladdens and gilds our path before us. 

And in the silence of the scene 

Sweet tones from heaven are softly speaking, 

Celestial music breathes between. 

The slumbering soul of bliss awaking. 

Short is the darkest night, whose shade 
Wraps nature's breast in clouds of sadness ! 
And joy's sweet flowers, that seem to fade, 
Shall bloom anew in kindling gladness. 

Death's darkness is more bright to him 
Who looks beyond in visions holy, 
Than passion's fires, or splendour's dream, 
Or all the glare of sin and folly. 

The silent tear, the deep-fetch'd sigh, 
Which virtue heaves in hours of quiet, 
Are dearer than pomp's revelry. 
Or the mad laugh of frenzied riot ; 



SATURDAY EVENING. 141 

Smiles from a conscience pmified, 
Far lovelier than the fleeting glory 
Conferr'd in all a monarch's pride, 
Embalm'd in all the hght of story. 

This joy be ours — our weeks shall roll— 
And let them roll — our bark is driven 
Safe to its harbour — and our soul 
Awaking, shall awake in heaven. 



FOURTH WEEK 



WINTER. 



145 



SUNDAY MORNING. 



God of the morning ! Thou, the sabbath's God I 
Round whose bright footsteps thousand planets 

roll; 
A million beings at Thy mighty nod 
Are born ; — and perish as they reach their goal. 
How great art Thou ! — an unimagined deep 
Of wisdom and of power ! — Thy laws how sure — 
Thy way how full of mystery ! — Thou dost keep 
Thy court among the heavens, sublime and pure 
And unapproachable ; the tired eye breaks 
Ere it can reach Thee. — Who can fathom Thee ? 
Who read Thy counsels? Thought exhausted 

seeks 
Thy path in vain. 'Tis o'er the mighty sea. 
On the tall mountain, in the rushing wind, 
And the mad tempest. — In a cloudy car. 
Wrapt in thick darkness, rides th' Eternal Mind, 
O'er land and ocean, and from star to star. 
Hast thou not seen Him in His proud career, 
Or heard His awful voice ? O look around. 
For He is always visible, always near. 
Listen to His eloquent words in every sound 
13 



146 SUNDAY MORNING. 

Of zephyr, waterfall, or birds, or bees. 

Or thousand songs, these sweet and those sublime : 

All nature's intellectual harmonies. 

And the soft music of the stream of time. 

See Him in the vernal beauty of the flower, 

In the ripe glory of the autumnal glow ; 

In summer's rich and radiant festal hour, 

In winter's purest, fairest robes of snow : 

There art Thou ! — not in temples built by the hand 

Of vanity — by the unproductive toil 

Of the hot brow, or by the fierce command 

Of tyrants, or with shame-collected spoil. 

Thy temple is the universe ! Thy throne 

Raised on the stars : Thy light is every where : 

And ceaseless music hymns th' Eternal One 

All-eloquent — nor can the listening ear 

Mistake that homage, which all time, all space. 

Pours forth to Thee ; none but the dead, the dull. 

Who sees not Thy bright smile in nature's face ? 

Who Thy high spirit, pure and beautiful, 

Marks not throughout existence ? All we have 

And all we hope for is Thy gift : and man 

Without Thee is a faint and fettered slave, 

Driven by the winds of passion, without plan 

Or purpose, or pursuit becoming : — Thou 

Art great, and great are all Thy works, and great 



SUNDAY EVENING. 147 

Shall be Thy praise. Before Thy throne we bow ; 
To Thee our prayers, our vows we consecrate. 

O Thou eternal Being ! clad in light, 
I in the dust before Thy presence fall, 
And ask for wisdom in thy hallow'd sight, 
To lead my steps to Thee. How calmly all 
Sleeps in the stillness of the sabbath morn. 
As if to sanctify the sacred day ! 
The spirit of peace, on the mild zephyrs borne. 
Glides gently on the tranquil morning's ray ; 
And in a solemn pause all nature seems 
To feel the present Deity : He speaks 
In the twilight melodies — smiles in the fair beams 
Which from His locks the star of morning shakes. 
Heaven is His canopy, His footstool earth, 
A thousand worlds His throne : O Lord to Thee, 
Holiest and mightiest source of light — of worth — 
Be praise and glory through eternity ! 



SUNDAY EVENING. 

Sweetly is the Sabbath fled, 
Day of peace and rest to me ; 
" Let Thy name be hallowed." 
Now my spirit soars to Thee, 



148 SUNDAY EVENING. 

Darkness deep, or distance wide 
Cannot man from God divide. 



O'er heaven's thousand burning lamps 
Towers thy glorious palace high ; 
Through the evening's twilight damps, 
O'er the morning's 'splendent sky : 
From the orient to the west, 
Thou art present, Mightiest ! 

Wisdom sees Thee shining brightly 
In the starry worlds above ; 
Virtue hears Thee speaking nightly 
From those orbs of light and love : 
Smiling youth and hoary age 
Praise Thee in their pilgrimage. 



Wheresoe'er Thy name is known— 
Every where — an altar stands 
Raised to Thee, the Eternal One, 
By devotion's holy hands : 
Thou art an undying flame. 
Shining through all time the same. 



SUNDAY EVENING. 149 

Piety, Thy favourite child, 
Gently leads our hearts to Thee ; 
Virtue, like an angel mild. 
Heralded by Piety, 
Guides us, with her torches bright, 
Through time's solitary night. 

Hallow'd be Thy holy name. 
Lord of spirits and of men ; 
Ne'er may virtue's sacred flame 
Die within our souls again ; 
But conduct Thy pilgrims on 
To Thy high and heavenly throne. 

Be our journey short or long, 
Yet we know not ; — but we know, 
Days and weeks and ages throng 
Time's unintermitting flow ; 
And to-morrow or to-day 
Shall our bark be swept away. 

Roll thou ever-flowing tide ; 
We, upon the billows driven, 
O'er the mighty stream shall ride 
To the peaceful port of heaven : 
13* 



150 MONDAY MORNING. 

There no shipwrecks strew the shore, 
There nor waves nor tempests roar. 



Trim we then our little sail ; 
Calmly let us onward steer : 
Blow, thou heaven-directing gale ! 
Ocean, waft the mariner ! 
See thy haven, see thy home ; 
Come thou weary traveller, come ! 



MONDAY MORNING. 

And so the active week again 

Its course begins — and so renew'd 

Our moments' busy multitude. 

Falling like rapid drops of rain, 

Sink in the grave ; — and so we die : 

The woods will have lost their harmony, 

life's sun sink down in the gloomy west — 

The beauty that gladden'd the eye is faded, 

The spirit of joy is hush'd to rest. 

The smiles which delighted the soul are shaded 

The stars of heaven are clouded. 

And the glorious brightness of day ; 



MONDAY MORNING. 151 

And he who on rapture's bosom lay, 

In the funeral bier is shrouded. 

Peace smiled from her sanctuary, 

She smiled — but smiles no more ; 

For the grave has closed its prison-door 

On the pilgrim weak and weary. 

In frowns and storms the morning calls ; 

And man, who was yesterday glad and gay 

As the evening ephemera, 

Like the ephemera falls. 

Long and sweet is the tired one's sleep ; 

But calmer his sleep and softer his bed 

Whose pillow is made of the grave-clod deep, 

With the green grass over his head. 

Curtain'd is he by the vapour's damp, 

Lull'd by the song of the even ; 

Lighted is he by the pale moon's lamp, 

Watch'd by the eye of heaven. 

Others may hear the heavy bell toll. 

Others the funeral train may see : 

He hears no dirge for his slumbering soul, 

He is sleeping tranquilly. 

There let him rest, — he toiled awhile, 

And now he throws off his burden of toil. 

There is a world whose cares, like this, 

Can never disturb the calm of bliss. 



152 MONDAY MORNING. 

Where He, who is the great light of all, 

In His own peculiar glory shineth ; 

Who turn'd in His hand this worldly ball, 

And its hopes and its memories sweetly entwineth. 

He raised heaven's azure arch sublime 

On pillars of strength that totter never ; 

Man is the victim of death, of time. 

Thou remainest the same for ever. 

These shall perish, while Thou endurest, 

These as a vestment shalt Thou change j 

Thou remainest strongest, surest, 

Through eternity's endless range. 

Thou Thyself art Eternity — 

'Tis but another name for Thee ! 

Suns may be darken'd, and planets shake, 

Earthquakes may stony mountains break. 

Comets may swallow up the sea : 

But Thou, unmoved as the splendid sun, 

This sandy desert shining on, 

Lookest on creation and decay, 

And still pursuest Thy glorious way, 

Wrapt in Thine own immensity. 

What should we fear ? waking or sleeping, 
Man is alike in Thy holy keeping. 
Let him not shrink though his bark be driven 
By the mad storm — let nought alarm him ; 



MONDAY EVENING. 15J 

The teiripest may burst, but cannot harm him : 
Safely he steers to his port in heaven. 
God is around us, o'er us, near us, 
What have His children then to fear ? 
Is he not always present to hear us. 
Willing to grant, as willing to hear ? 



MONDAY EVENING. 

The night has thrown its shadows o'er the land, 
And rest revisits nature. — Evening's train. 
With day's extinguish'd torches in their hand 
Have pass'd the twilight's western gates again. 
On the damp hills the stars are glittering. 
The mists are hanging round the forests deep, 
While from their silver thrones the cold frosts fling 
Their fetters o'er the vanquish'd earth, and keep 
The streams in icy bondage. Happy he 
Who to his bed of slumber can retire, 
To rest in sweet and sound tranquillity ; 
While untormented by a vain desire, 



154 MONDAY EVENING. 

Or a reproaching spirit, he may dwell 
Securely and serenely. — To the goo3 
The conscience is a fearless citadel, 
Where nought of doubt or danger can intrude. • 
The darkness mantles him, — and till the hour 
When sleep upon his eyelids sinks, he takes 
Sweet counsel with that ever-present Power, 
Who out of night His robes of brightness makes ; 
And from beyond this narrow-bounded vale, 
Water'd by tears — by vapours curtain'd round, — 
And canopied in clouds — his thoughts can hail 
That awful Majesty whose light is found 
Descending and pervading the pure heart 
That seeks His presence, while its cheering glow 
A lustre and a smile of light inipart 
To all the shades of solitude and woe. 

Tliough the earth tremble at Thy coming. Lord ! 
Thy children may approach Thee — may adore : 
There is salvation. Father ! in Thy word, 
And Thy diffusive Spirit shining o'er 
Earth's valley, makes earth cheerful. In its rays 
We move rejoicing onwards — ^bent beneath 
The burthen of our nothingness, we praise 
And magnify Thy name. In life, in death. 
Alike we see Thy glory. From Thy throne 
Rivers of strength and life roll forth, that lave 



MONDAY EVENING 155 

All the created world. — On Thee alone 

The world and all its tribes depend. The grave 

Has for Thy love a tongue. — E'en as the night 

Its starry garlands and its hymns — I hear, 

I hear the voices of the sons of light, 

Blending and circling round from sphere to sphere. 

Each star a chord of music — a wave's flow 

In the majestic sea of song that rolls 

In ceaseless tides of harmony, which know 

No rest — no discord. There departed souls 

Join the eternal chorus. Thence they speak 

To us poor pilgrims wandering still on earth — 

They bid us soar above earth's vale — and seek 

The country where our holier parts had birth, 

And whither they are tending. Father ! thither 

My eager heart aspires — and when this scene 

Fades round me — and its passing flowerets with-. 

er — 
There let me rest rewarded and serene. 



156 



TUESDAY MORNING. 

Almighty One ! I bend in dust before Thee, 

Even so veil'd cherubs bend ; — 
In calm and still devotion I adore Thee, 

All-wise, all-present Friend 1 
Thou to the earth its emerald robes hast given, 

Or curtain'd it in snow ; 
And the bright sun, and the soft moon in heaven, 

Before Thy presence bow. 

Thou in Thy wisdom spread'st the map of nature. 

That map so fair and bright : 
Reared'st the arch of heaven — on every creature 

Pouring its streams of light. 
Thou feed'st with dew the early spring-rose glow- 
ing, 

Quickenest the teeming sea ; 
Thine is the storm through the dark forest blowing, 

Thine, heaven's soft harmony. 

Thine is the beam on ocean's bosom glancing. 

Thine is the thunder-cloud, 
Thine are the lamps that light our steps, advancing 

To the tomb's solitude. 



TUESDAY MORNING. 157 

Thou speakest — and all nature's pregnant bosom 
Heaves with Thy mighty breath ; 

Thou frownest — man, even like a frost-nipp'd 
blossom, 
Drops in the lap of death. 

A thousand worlds which roll around us brightly, 

Thee in their orbits bless ; 
Ten thousand suns which shine above us nightly, 

Proclaim Thy righteousness. 
Thou didst create the world — 'twas Thy proud 
mandate. 

That woke it unto day ; 
And the same power that measured, weigh'd, and 
spann'd it. 

Shall bid that world decay. 

Thou Power sublime ! whose throne is firmly seated 

On stars and glowing suns ; 
O could I praise Thee — could my soul elated 

Waft Thee seraphic tones, 
Had I the lyres of angels — could I bring Thee 

An offering worthy Thee, 
In what bright notes of glory would I sing Thee, ^ 

Blest notes of ecstacy ! 
14 



158 TUESDAY EVENING?. 

Here is my song, a voice of mortal weakness" 

Just breathing from my breast ; 
A mingled song, of worthlessness and meekness 

And feeble hope, at best. 
In heaven that voice, up to Thy throne ascending, 

Should speak as angels speak, 
And joy and confidence and glory blending, 

Thy seat of light should seek. 

Eternity ! Eternity ! — how solemn. 

How terrible the sound ! 
Here, leaning on Thy promises — a column 

Of strength — may I be found. 
O let my heart be ever Thine, while beating, 

As when 'twill cease to beat ; 
Be Thou my portion — till that awful meeting, 

When I my God shall greet. 



TUESDAY EVENING. 

The earth again puts on its evening dress ; 
And v/akening yon innumerable stars, 
A twilight, milder than the eye of day 
And fairer than the calm of night, is spread 



TUESDAY EVENING. 159 

O'er universal nature ; from above 

Shadows descend, solicitous to veil 

The sins of the reposing world ; — to soothe 

Hearts beating with anxiety,- — to lull 

The tumults of ambition, — quell the thirst 

Of greedy avarice, — and to cheat the care 

Of wantonness, that crowns its head with thorns. 

The perjured tongue, the rapine-scheming head. 

The murderous hand, the vile and counterfeit heart j 

The eye that sheds false tears — thou, darksome 

night ! 
Veil in Thy charity — be the overarching tomb, 
Though for a moment, to the mass of sin 
Which morn, alas ! shall wake again, — and day 
Let loose like bandits on the unshelter'd world. 
And O ! if in the visions of the night 
A ministering angel might descend, — a voice 
Be heard in the still silence, to recall 
Those wanderers to the fold of blessedness ! 
For ah ! thy shade, though dark and deep it be. 
Will hide them not from Him, to whom the gloom 
Is bright as noon-tide. Let the solemn thought 
Come o'er my soul, that even as now in sleep. 
So shall we lay us down in death, ere long. 
And for a gloomier season. Kings and slaves 
Shall then repose upon the self-same bed, 



160 TUESDAY EVENING. 

That bed the cold clods of the valley. There, 

There must all sleep, seed in the bosom of earth, 

To shoot as weeds or flowers, when the fair spring 

Of immortality shall dawn ; and then 

Be gather'd with the general harvest in, 

And garner'd in the stores of heaven, — or swept 

With the vile chaff away. Eternal God ! 

Thou who art wrapt in robes of majesty 

And dazzling light — the Lord, the Judge of all I 

To Thee we would commend us — Hear our 

prayers, 
Do all Thy will on earth as done in heaven. 
And be Thy law, our law, — Thy will, our will ! 
Thou will'st Thy children's happiness ; — ^Thy 

hand. 
Thy guardian hand, has given us that pure joy 
Which angels share — that silent source of bliss. 
That sweet anticipation of Thyself, 
Flowing from a pure heart : — Thy will be done. 



161 



WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

All-seeing God ! before whose throne sublime 
Lies open the thick-crowded book of time, 
Whose eye, when glancing o'er the varied page, 
Reads the departed, or the coming age ; 
Thou, whose resistless energies control 
The aberrations of my wandering soul, 
Whom, in the midst of darkness and distress, 
I see, and feel, confide in, and confess : 
Lord ! if one thought devout, one prayer divine. 
Break from my breast, accept it — for 'tis Thine ! 

God ! in Thy presence, glory's glittering gleam 
And pomp's parade are desolate and dim. 
What is ambition's gay and garish ray ? 
Less than the glow-worm in the eye of day. 
Before Thee folly drops its darling dress, 
And stands unveil'd in its own nakedness. 
Proud as he is — and, towering, though he can 
Erect himself — man is at best but man : 
Though high his destiny, and deck'd in state, 
Great in possession, and in purpose great ; 
Though honour gild his bright escutcheon o'er, 
And heralds oft have told its fame before, 
14* 



162 WEDNESDAY MORNING. 

What iFoots it ? Time, whose devastating sway 
Sweeps crowns and coronets, sceptres, swords, 

away; 
Time will not spare him, — wherefore should it 

spare ? 
Look at yon grave-stone — he shall slumber there, 
Privileged, if when he rests in peace below. 
One flower obscure should o'er his ashes grow. 
Is he lamented ? If a tear should wet 
One faithful eye, to-morrow 'twill forget 
Its object ; — yet another day, that eye 
Shall in eternal night be dark and dry. 

Gloomy are evening's shadows when they fall 
And wrap the face of nature with their pall : 
But these are brightness to sin's moral night ; — 
Dark is the grave ; but e'en the grave is light 
To crime's domain of terror. Tempests sweep 
The swelling billows of the threatening deep ; 
The storm may burst, the madden'd billows roll. 
No ocean rages like a tortured soul. 

O holy Virtue — pure and fair thou art ! 
Thy robes are light ; thy unpolluted heart 
Is spotless as the falling snow ; thy face 
Beams with supernal youth, and joy and grace. 

E'en like a summer's night our life rolls by, 
And time still calls us to eternity ; 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 163 

Soon life's last sand shall drop — another scene 
Shall in its awful dawning then begin. 
Say, art thou ready ? Has the grave's dark room 
For thee no terrors ? — Lo ! its darkest gloom 
A light from heaven illumines — and a voice 
Speaks from the clouds : " Awake ! come forth, 
rejoice ! " 
All-seeing God ! in lowliness I bow 
My proud heart in the dust before Thee now. 
Thou giv'st to each his portion ; and to each 
His forward way to heaven and Thee dost teach : 
My lot is in Thy hand — the night, the day, 
The moon's pale glimmering, as the sunny ray, 
Are Thine — and Thine the midnight of the 

grave : — 
O be Thou there to strengthen and to save ; 
To light death's valley with Thy beam of love, 
And smile a welcome to Thy throne above. 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 



The hour of peace resumes again 
Its tranquil, silent, solemn reign ; 
Sorrow a short cessation knows 
On the soft couch of calm repose. 



164 WEDNESDAY EVENING. 

And all is still — The Eternal One 
Hath risen from His glorious throne, 
And on the midnight's raven pinions 
Surveys His infinite dominions. 

And who but Thou the world could keep, 
When buried thus in evening's sleep ? 
Who bid that sleeping world awake, 
When o'er the hills the day-beams break ? 
Who call those day-beams from their bed, 
When nature is by darkness led ? 
Thou, Lord, alone ! Thy mighty hand 
Doth all create, and all command. 
In every thing that hand we see. 
And more than every thing in Thee. 

But who can count the countless throng 
That wakes to hear the morning's song ; 
Or tell the infinite train that rest, 
O'erwatch'd by Thee, on evening's breast : 
All from Thy presence joy receiving. 
All on Thy generous bounty living ? 
And we, the lowliest and the least. 
With heaven's peculiar favour blest ! 

Did earth upon our care depend. 
Decay would soon with misery blend ; 
Were we the counsellors of heaven, 
AlK all would be to ruin driven : 



WEDNESDAY EVENING. 165 

We, helpless as the ephemeral fly, 
And sightless as the adder's eye. 

But Thou, in wisdom's chains hast bound 
The mighty universe around ; 
And mountain's height, and vale's recess. 
Speak thy unwearied watchfulness ; 
And every sun that splendour gives, 
And every orb that hght receives, 
And solemn night, and joyous day, 
And mountain stream and forest lay, 
And waves and waterfalls and showers, 
And trees and shrubs and fruits and flowers. 
And all that nature's face reveals, 
And all that nature's womb conceals. 
Space, earth, heaven, time, eternity. 
Are all upheld, great God ! by Thee. 

Ours is a hurried pilgrimage. 
Youth beckons to the steps of age. 
And youth and age too swiftly meet, 
The angel of the tomb to greet ; 
And soon the rays of life are gone. 
And soon the time-enduring sun. 
Which shines so brightly o'er our head, 
Shall shine upon our funeral bed. 

Enough — if while we journey here. 
Some visions from that holier sphere, 



166 THURSDAY MORNING. 

Where the great Spirit sits, array'd 

In splendour, light this vale of shade. 

Enough — if in this vale of tears. 

Some heavenly strains should reach our ears, 

Remotely echoed from the hymn 

Of cherubim and seraphim. 

Enough — if in these earthly bowers 

Some leaves of those immortal flowers 

Which bloom in living fragrance sweet, 

Should grow spontaneous at our feet. 

Yes ! such Thy servants, Lord ! have known, 
Such effluence from Thy burning throne : 
And such be mine — and when at last 
Life's summer evening shall be past, 
The shades of night shall curtain me, 
And I shall slumber, watch'd by Thee ! 



THURSDAY MORNING. 



Thou best of beings ! — now the night is fled. 
And day awakes in all its bliss again ; 
Man, rising from his heaven-protected bed. 
Is launch'd on duty's ever-flowing main. 



THURSDAY MORNING. 167 

Thou art the Lord ! alike the day, the night, 
Thy love proclaim — for each Thy love pervades : 
Thou smilest in the Aurora's purple light. 
And wrapp'st Thyself in evening's solemn shades. 
God ! Thou art Love ! repeats the youthful spring, 
God ! Thou art Love ! the summer days proclaim ; 
God ! Thou art Love ! the autumnal valleys sing, 
And hoary winter echoes back the name. 
Thou rock'st the cradle of sweet infancy, 
Lead'st active youth through its fair path of flowers, 
And manhood owes its golden fruit to Thee ; 
To Thee old age its calm and lovely hours. 
Thou deck'st all nature with its swan-like robe, 
Cover est the snow with million diamonds' gleam, 
Bid'st icy pyramids tower above the globe. 
And build 'st Thy crystal bridges o'er the stream. 
How infinite Thy works ! — the great, the small. 
Rich with Thy bounty, teeming with Thy love, 
All fraught with pure intelligence, and all 
Tending to perfect bliss, — where Thou above 
Shalt justify Thy purpose. We below, 
The moral subjects of vicissitude. 
Would to Thy holy dispensations bow, 
Secure that all must end in boundless good. 
How mild, how wise, how beautiful Thy reign ! 
Thy sun — an image of Thyself— O Lord ! 



168 THURSDAY MORNING. 

Shines e'en upon the unthankful ; and Thy rain 
Is on the unrighteous, as the holy, pour'd. 
Existence hangs upon Thy fostering cares, 
And even the worst partake those cares divine ; 
Ingratitude itself Thy favour shares : — 
Ingratitude ! — 'midst favours such as Thine ! 
Ingratitude to Him, whose bounty gave 
Life, and the joys of life ; who leads us on 
With gentle guidance even to the grave ! 
But who, alas ! is not ungrateful ? None. 
His love protects us, leads us, lights us, cheers ; 
Gives to our morning, brightness, beauty, bliss : 
Conducts us gently to the eve of years. 
Crowns us with hope, and peace, and happiness. 
My God ! my Father ! — on Thee will I rest — 
Rest with unbounded confidence on Thee ; 
No slavish fears shall now enthrall my breast, 
I stand erect in holiest liberty. 
Thou dwell'st in light unsearchable — and here 
Thy children in a night of darkness roam ; 
But earth shall not detain the wanderer : 
Heaven is his destiny, and heaven his home. 
There peace and love, in holiest union bound, 
Shall gild with everlasting smiles the scene. 
And God's pure presence scattering light around, 
Fill every heart with joy and bliss serene. 



1G9 



THURSDAY EVENING. 

The day is done ; — ^the night comes calmly forth, 
Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even : 
The golden wain rolls round the silent north, 
And earth is slumbering 'neath the smiles of heaven. 
Like yon celestial torches, let me press 
Forward — and heavenward — on my destined way : 
Clad, like the stars, in robes of holiness. 
Bright, like the stars, with joy's enrapturing ray. 
Calm evening ! whose mild presence can restore 
The peace ne'er found amidst the world's rude 

cares, 
Can bid the weeping eyelids weep no more, 
^\nd chase all misery — all, except despair's ! 
When round the world we look, how many a 

grief 
Invites the soul to sober thought, and checks 
The gush of daring pride ; — pangs that relief 
Approaches not, — and melancholy wrecks 
Of once fair-flattering happiness, now scatter'd 
On life's tempestuous shores ! What prospects 

blighted ! 
What piles of fond anticipation shattered, 
And gaudy dreams in which the soul delighted ! 
15 



170 THURSDAY EVENING. 

These all may serve to loosen the dull fetter 
Which binds us to this world — and bid us look 
Beyond it to a brighter and a better ; 
And read the page of that imposing book, 
Where are the records of all ages past 
And present, and all ages yet to come : 
Existence' infant moments, and its last, 
From the earth's first awakening, to its tomb. 

Life's scenes are rich in eloquence, and truth. 
And wisdom ; — and their flow'rets sweetly grow 
In the dark valley of affliction's ruth, 
As in joy's gay and summer-sunshine glow. 
Be it our lot to pluck them, and to twine 
Their separate beauties in one moral wreath, 
To decorate life's ever-crumbling shrine ; 
To hang upon the canopy of death. 
The steady stream of virtue flows serenely, 
Till in eternity's vast ocean lost ; 
Though the rude winds of chilling time blow keenly, 
And bind its surface in the fettering frost ; 
Still it flows calmly on — and still shall flow, 
And fertilize the earth : — And can it ever 
Sleep in its energetic progress ? No ! 
Its course shall never be impeded — never ! 

Day after day, the light of heaven appears ; 
Night after night, dark curtains wrap the skies } 



FRIDAY MORNING. 171 

And man sinks downward in the vale of years, 
Buds, blossoms, bears his fruit, decays and dies : 
He fills the spot his fathers fill'd of old ; 
Their ashes now mix with the cheerless clay — 
And he soon, slumbering on earth's bosom cold, 
Shall lie as low, and sleep as sound as they. 
And other generations rise and fall. 
Till the all-embracing plan shall be complete, 
Christ own'd the Saviour and the Judge of all. 
The power of evil vanquish'd at his feet, 
And death extinct for ever ! — O to share 
His triumphs, — and from his benignant voice 
The approving ' Welcome to thy home ! ' to hear — 
Were all of earthly hopes and all of heavenly joys. 



FRIDAY MORNING. 

Like a priestess from her temple's shade, 
In her holiest robes of light array'd. 
The Morn walks forth ; — Day's glorious star 
Towers o'er the misty mountains far, 
The heavens are bright with celestial blue, 
The earth is sprinkled o'er with dew. 
And all is bright and gay and fair : 
The spirit of joy and love is there — 



172 FRIDAY MORNING. 

Fit temple for that Glorious One, 

Who form'd the earth and woke the sun. 

If any soul of harmony- 
Is waken'd in humanity, 
Thine is the music. Father ! Thine 
The morning minstrels' songs divine. 
Thou first didst string devotion's lyre ', 
Thine is the daylight's holy fire, 
Thine is the evening's twilight ray, 
And Thine the veil that shades the day. 
Above yon arch sublime of heaven, 
Is Thy eternal chariot driven ; 
Above the visible stars Thou reignest, 
Yet sometimes in thy mercy deignest 
To bless the world w^ith beams of light, 
Reflected from Thy presence bright. 

Bow Thee down to this lowliest sphere, 
Thou, whose wisdom never can err ; 
Thou, whose powder no hmit boundeth ; 
Thou, whose love all space surroundeth ! 
If Thou wult speak, there are thunders near Thee , 
Millions of ministering spirits hear Thee, 
Ever on the wing to obey : — 
Eternal splendour hghts Thy way. 
Thy footsteps imprint the morning hills. 
Thy voice is heard in the music of rills. 



FRIDAY Morning. 173 

111 the song of birds, and the heavenly chorus 

That nature utters, around us, o'er us. 

Dead is the sense, and dull the ear, 

That cannot perceive Thee every where : 

Every where — and in every thing ; 

The motion in the insect's wing, 

As the unmeasured comet's march. 

Rolling sublime in yon boundless arch ', 

Beautiful in a drop of dew 

As in the rainbow's glorious hue ; 

In the light zephyrs audible 

As in the storm-wave's loudest swell ; 

In every thing Thy glory beameth — 

From every thing Thy witness streameth : 

Silence itself has a voice for Thee ; 

In the thick darkness Thy light we see ; 

Even the cold grave, dreary and damp, 

Is illumed by Thy eternal lamp. 

Calmly on ! the grave's dormitory 
Has its sweet visions of hope and glory; 
Heaven shall cheer its stillness deep. 
Heaven shall watch its holy sleep ; 
O'er it a brighter sun shall rise 
Than ever lighted the visible skies. 
15* 



174 



FRIDAY EVENING. 



True ! Spring renews the faded year ; 

And renovated fruits and flowers 

In re-awaken'd charms appear : — 

They deck the plain — they crown the bowers- 

Their blush was past — ^their odour fled — 

They only slept — ^they were not dead. 



They were not dead — for though the breath 
Of winter o'er their beauties swept. 
They were not visited by death ; 
They only bow'd their heads and slept. 
For let them die — their charms again 
Shall decorate nor bower nor plain. 



True ! visions haunt the general breast 
Of man — of worlds beyond the skies : 
But that may be a dream at best, 
Like other dreams and vanities ; 
For man is but a breath, betray'd 
By every sense, by every shade. 



, FRIDAY EVENING. 175 

Around him, o'er him, he creates 
A thousand fancies to delude. 
Which time, truth-trier, dissipates. 
Bright though they be, and fair and good : 
They are but dreams at last — that leave 
Our disappointed hopes to grieve. 

True ! power and pride and insolent thought 

Our trust in Heaven severely try ; 

The wicked rule the world — and nought 

Is left to virtue but — to die : 

And sure, if God is strong and just, 

It shall not perish in the dust. 

Vain hope I In virtue's path who treads. 
Treads surely : — all we feel and see 
Is a triumphant march that leads 
Truth, knowledge to its victory : 
'Tis sorrow's sternest discipline 
That makes our mortal man divine. 

There is no pain but is the seed 
Of pleasure : — wretchedness and woe 
Are steps to virtue. Oft the weed 
Shelters the tender flowers that grow 



176 FRIDAY EVENING. 

Beneath its shield. Each day — each hour- 
Give power to truth — to virtue power. 



Such are the thoughts and such the fears 

Of pilgrims, in that gloomy way 

Where heaven no glorious pillar rears 

Of fire by night — of clouds by day ; 

Such as the sons of Israel led, 

When wandering through the desert dread. 



Yet happier — O how happier ! — he, 
Who from the waste of grief and care 
Retreats to immortality, 
And builds his tabernacle there, — 
And smiles, as from a splendid star. 
On dews and mists beneath him far ! 



Yes ! happier who from earthly woe 
Turns his fix'd vision to the skies. 
And knows and feels that Jesus rose, 
And is assured that he shall rise ; 
With faith as steadfast and subhme 
As ever vanquish'd doubt or time. 



SATURDAY MORNING. 177 

All else is vain — the days to come 
Are shrouded in obscurity : 
But Jesus burst his mortal tomb — 
And I shall not death's prisoner be. 
There 's bliss enough in this to cheer 
All the dim woes that vex us here. 

Yes ! Jesus rose — and while the wreck 
Of nature leaves that thought to bless ; 
The sigh of bursting grief I'll check. 
And still the tumuh of distress : — 
For Jesus rose — and I shall rise, 
Though this poor crumbling body dies. 



SATURDAY MORNING. 

Another portion of life rolls on, 

The week glides calmly by ; 
And down the swift stream of time we run, 

To the sea of eternity. 
Who knows how soon the hour will come 

When the sun shall put out his light, 
And the Master shall call his labourers home^ 

To sleep in the valleys of night ? 



178 SATURDAY MORNING. 

And then shall He take a strict account 

Of duties neglected and done, 
And millions shall read their vast amount 

Recorded one by one. 
And every bosom shall be unveil'd 

And every secret known ; 
And none another's sin shall shield, 

And none shall hide his own ! 



We live in this narrow world below, 

The victims of self-deceit ; 
But in the bright world to which we go, 

No artifice can cheat. 
Folly can there no more assume 

Wisdom's imposing dress ; 
Nor hypocrisy wear the towering plume 

Of conscious righteousness. 



O nothing will then avail us there 
But deeds of mercy and love 5 

For each his burden of sin must bear, 
At the high tribunal above. 



SATURDAY MORNING. ~ 179 

To have train'd our spirits to forgive, 

As we hope to be forgiven, 
And have lived on earth as they should live. 

Whose hopes and home are heaven. 



We are weak and vain, but God is strong ; 

We are blind, but His piercing eye, 
To whose orbit all space and time belong, 

Embraces infinity. 
We wander — His spirit leads us back 

To the heavenward path of peace, 
And His glory hghts the holy track 

That ends in eternal bliss. 



He smiles on all — and though drear and dark 

Our journey may seem to be — 
A joyous, a bright, though lonely spark, 

Shines from eternity. 
As beneath the curtains of silver snow 

The flowers of the valley are hid, 
So the flowers of hope and beauty grow 

'Neath the grave's pyramid. 



180 SATURDAY EVENING. 

Even ill the shadiest, darkest night 

The stars shine on unseen ; 
And the sun is clad in his robes of light, 

Though mists intrude between. 
And the grave, tho' dreary and dull and deep, 

Is bright with a heaven-born ray, 
x'Vnd its long and seemingly listless sleep 

Shall be crown'd with eternal day. 



SATURDAY EVENING. 

(Translation.) 

Lord ! to whose being ages are but moments, 
Fugitive moments ! Thou, eternal Father 
Listen in mercy — for life's passing shadows 
Soon will be scatter'd. 



'Tis thy bright presence makes all nature pregnant, 
Pregnant with beauty — 'tis Thy sacred presence 
Fills all creation. — I am but an atom — 
Deign, Lord ! to hear me. 



SATURDAY EVENING. 181 

Glorious and mighty ! Thy right hand of greatness 
Upholds existence. — What is man before Thee ? 
Vanity, ashes — indigence and folly : 
Smile, then, benignly ! 

Fountain of wisdom ! Spirit of creation ! 
Life-source of blessing ! — hear the humble praises 
Of Tby poor pilgrim, whose short day of sadness 
Soon will be over ! 



Thy searcliing spirit sees departed ages. 
Ages in embryo — ages veil'd in darkness. 
Present and future — all ahke unravell'd : — 
I am but blindness. 

Highly exalted on Thy throne of glory. 
Being unchanging ! do Thou help my weakness 
From th' o'erflovvings of Thy strength : O Father ! 
Help Thou my weakness. 

'Tis Thy proud arm that yon abyss divideth, 
Blots out the planets, gives the stars their splendour, 
Rules o'er infinity, uncontroll'd and mighty : — 
I am as nothing. 
16 



182 SATURDAY EVENING. 

E'en the plumed songster, wandering thro' creation : 
E'en the poor insect, living in the sunbeam ; 
E'en the scorn'd earth-worm, at our feet extended ; 
All share Thy mercy. 

Deign, then, to hear me. Father ! deign to bless me ! 
Nothing too lowly for Thy smiles benignant ; 
Nothing too trifling for Thy care, Thy kindness — 
I, too, may share them. 

Infinite Being — Living One ! Eternal ! 
Wise and unchanging — Father, Holy Father ! 
Look from Thy Throne of brightness and of glory 
On this Thy suppliant ! 



HYMNS 



AND OTHER 



DEVOTIONAL PIECES- 



185 



NIGHT. 

(From the German of Herder.) 

Dost thou come again, calm, holy mother 

Of bright stars and heavenly aspirations ; 

Dost thou visit us again ? Awaiting 

Thy mild presence, Earth, and all her flow'rets 

Bending down their feeble heads, and thirstijig 

For a dewdrop, pant. My sinking spirit, 

Overflowing with a thousand visions. 

Waits the still and sacred visitation 

Of thy gentle influence : — Come, inspire me 

With the thoughts of happier worlds, and brighter ; 

And with peace my weary bosom quicken. 

Star-surrounded, gold-encircled goddess ! 
Thou, upon whose dark and ample mantle 
Thousand worlds are shining, — thou who bearest. 
Gently bearest all — their restless being — 
Fiery courses — ever-busy orbits — 
In the strength of everlasting quiet. 

What a song of triumph is repeated 



186 NIGHT. 

Through all worlds to thee, the living leader 
Of the starry choirs ; — a song of glory 
Even to Him who stills the storm — whom lan- 
guage— 
Whom the spirit's utterance — whom all voices 
Praise, — and sink in silence at His presence. 

Holy Silence ! — o'er the world now brooding,-^ 
Gentle stream, that to the eternal borders 
Of unmeasured being rolls sublimely ; 
And thou, noble song of stars and planets, 
Light of light — the peaceful speech of heaven ! 
Night environs and pervades my spirit — 
Seas of vast infinity surround me — 
Fill my soul — heaven of all heavens — an ocean 
Calm and silent, full of glowing beauties, 
As heaven's arch is full of fiery sparkles. 

Mighty Night I I bow before thy altar ! 
Every spark of this all-filling ether 
Is a frontlet round thy holy temple. 
Bright with heavenly writing. Who can read it ? 
Flames of fire written by the Uncreated, 
On the night's tall brow. It says : Jehovah 
He is One — His name is Everlasting — 
And His child is night : — His higher, title 
Mystery ; — whose dark and shadowy mantle 
None may dare uplift ! — it hath created 



NIGHT. 187 

Worlds, and space, and time. Its privileged 

children, 
Ever in the path of law and order, 
Love and mighty destiny — hasten onward, 
Ever hasten tow'rds the hving Father. 

Drop the curtain, then, thou holy mother ! 
Shut the book that 's full of heavenly writing ; 
I can read no more — can soar no higher : — 
Thought is all exhausted. Rather grant me 
Thy sweet peace, and gently pour upon me, 
Mother of soft sleep and nightly visions ! 
Pour upon me dewdrops of oblivion 
And forgetfulness of earthly sorrow. 

Feel I not, how, thy kind slumber-fetters 
Wrap me all around ? — thy hand maternal 
Shuts with tenderest care my falling eyelids? 
Spirits of the night now glide before me — ? 
Stately forms — tall and majestic shadows 
From far worlds — A milden'd light surrounds me : 
Light ne'er seen by my awaken'd vision. 
What a moon ! what stars of dazzling brightness ! 
Do I soar — swim — dream ? — or am I sinking 
Down from th' Uncreated's throne ? — for angels, 
Angels are around me — lost companions 
Of my childhood — friends long since departed, 
Guardian spirits — some unknown — they offer 



NIGHT. 



The warm hand of fellowship — all glowing — 
And I join their everlasting music. 

Slumber still, thou dull and drowsy burden 
Of my earthly way ; Night spreads her mantle, 
Night — and all her lamps that burn so brightly, 
Brightly burn in yonder hallowed circle. 
Visitants of heaven sink — rise before me ; 
Dwellers of the stars — and heaven's bright portals, 
In my nightly dreams, to me are open. 
Every angel, every blessed spirit. 
All heaven's concert — all are smiling on me ! 
Moons and suns — up to what sun ascending ? 
What 's the centre of these endless circles. 
All-creating — all-inspiring Spirit ? 
Veil'd from this my wandering star — but haply 
Seen by yon far sun's more privileged dwellers. 

See ! with what a sympathising spirit 
All these stars are smiling ! — Do ye see me, 
Me the dust of dust — ^who dare to hail ye, 
Hail ye as my friends — the loved companions 
Of my sweetest, dearest, highest pleasures ; 
Gentlest witnesses of peace and virtue ? 

Heaven's young offspring — joy-inspiring children 
Of enkindled night — and thou, fair sister 
Of my hope, my joy, and my devotion. 
Long ye smiled, and long ye shone rejoicing, 



MORNING THOUGHTS. 189 

Clad in all your bright and festal garments, 
Ere I was — and ere the earth had being ! 
And when I shall be not — when oblivion 
Sweeps away that earth-r-and in the music 
Of your hynnis her voice shall speak no longer : 
When her dull and distant tones shall perish, 
And the sighs which from her poles are breaking, 
In the song of hght shall be extinguished — 
Shall I then, fair spirits, dwell among ye ? 
Is there in your amaranthine foliage 
Even for me a wreath of love and glory ? 
That my voice in your soft choir may mingle ; 
While I look upon this lowly dwelling. 
To some son of earth a ray of brightness. 
Or a hope-star to some child of sorrow ? 



MORNING THOUGHTS. 

Come, let us leave the vain, the proud, 
The ambitious, and the worldly-wise ; 
Pomp's revels, turbulent and loud. 
And pleasure's tempting vanities : 



190 MORNING THOUGHTS. 

And let us mount the mantled hill, 
Or wander in the waving wood y 
Or trace the melancholy rill 
Through its own haunts of solitude ; 

Or seek the little tufts of flowers, 
Hid 'neatli the turf from sultry beams : 
Nor waste life's swift and smiling hours 
In senseless joys or idle dreams. 

Or let us tread the ocean shore ; 
And, while its surges rise and roll, 
Their voice sublime, their blended roar, 
Shall fall like music on the soul. 



Or watch the busy clouds, that sail 
Along the heavens like living things — 
Soar on the spirit-rousing gale — 
Or take the gentler zephyr's wings. 

And then our hallow'd talk shall be 
Of Him who rear'd the mountains high, 
Pour'd out the waters of the sea. 
Painted the flowers, and arch'd the sky. 



MORNING THOUGHTS. 191 

'Tis in the silence, in the shade, 
That light from heaven illumes our road ; 
And man, e'en mortal man, is made, 
If not a god — almost a god. 

'Tis then he feels and hears and sees 
Thoughts, hopes, and joys to angels given ; 
Those chains of towering sympathies 
Which link the earthly soul to heaven. 

Beyond or moon, or sun, or star, 
The enfranchised spirit soars — the ray 
Of morning is its glorious car. 
And comets light it on its w^ay. 

It travels o'er the vast abyss 
Of space and time, and joys to see 
The pregnant future bright with bliss. 
And love, and joy, and liberty. 

Then bending down to earth again, 
Full of glad hope, — 'tis train'd to bear 
The Hghten'd weight of mortal pain : 
The passing storm of earthly care. 



192 MORNING THOUGHTS. 

And every stream more gently flows, 
And every flower more freshly smells, 
And every breeze more gaily blows, 
And every note more sweetly swells. 

The light that shines within, is shed 
O'er all above, around, below ; 
The stars are brighter o'er our head, 
And brighter is the sunny glow. 

E'en darkness has a cheering smile. 
And twilight kindles into day; 
And the heart rests untroubled — ^while 
Visions of Eden round it play. 

And, journeying onwards, peace and hope 
And holy memory gild the gloom. 
While man descends the gentle slope 
Which brings him to the quiet tomb. 

There shall he rest : — till, ages gone, — 
When, summon'd to a higher sphere, 
He shall enjoy that blissful sun 
Whose distant rays consoled him here. 



193 



EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATIJ, 

The good man dies — it grieves us : 
Why should the good man die ? 
He dies — but dying, leaves us 
A lasting legacy. 

And this becomes our comforter ; 
And sweeter is the thought 
Of him who is departed, 
•Than all that death has left: — 
No longer, broken-hearted, 
Deem that thou art bereft ; 
For, O ! the good man's memory 
Is sweeter far than aught. 



No sorrows now disturb him, 
No disappointment there ; 
No worldly pride to curb him 
In his sublime career : 
Heaven's azure arch is over him, 
Earth's tranquil breast beneath. 
The stars are brightly glowing. 
The breezes play around, 
17 



194 EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 

The flowers are sweetly blowing, 
The dew is on the ground, 
Ajjd emerald mosses cover him — 
How beautiful is death ! 



His life — a summer's even, 

Whose sun of light, though set 

Amidst the clouds of heaven, 

Leaves streams of brightness yet ; 

And thus he sinks victoriously 

Into his ocean throne : 

Then darkness gathers round him — 

'Tis but a night : — again 

He bursts the chains that bound him ; 

He rises from the main, 

And marches heavenward gloriously 

In splendours of his own. 



Yon gems so sweetly sparkling 
On heaven's cerulean deep. 
What time the twilight darkling 
Brings nature's hours of sleep, 
Are perhaps the bright receptacles 
Of disembodied souls : 



EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 195 

Of souls that, long desiring 
Some more than mortal joy, 
Burst in their proud aspiring, 
And fix themselves on high ; 
And on this earth look tenderly, 
That low beneath them rolls. 



Yes ! in those orbs of glory 
Methinks I see the ray, 
Which wisdom's sages hoary 
Have scatter'd o'er my way, 
With brighter wisdom perfected, 
All strength — all purity. 
In yonder gentle star-light 
I see the holy tear. 
Glistening in fair though far light, 
Which once consoled me here — 
Till I was left in wretchedness^ 
And none to weep with me. 



Roll on, fair worlds ! and over 
Earth's vale your torches blend :- 
In each my thoughts discover 
Smiles of some cherish'd friend. 



196 EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 

Whose melancholy pilgrimage 
Wearies the heart no more. 
O yes ! I hear their voices, 
O yes ! their forms 1 see ; 
And then my soul rejoices, 
And, raptured, seems to be 
Their momentary visitant ; 
But soon the dream is o'er. 



I '11 build a fane elysian 
Among those towers divine. 
And there in hallow'd vision, 
When gloomy thoughts are mine, 
Will soar in glowing ecstacy — 
There shall my joys be stored j 
And there my soul reposing 
On contemplation's breast. 
When earthly scenes are closing, 
Shall find a place of rest. 
And leave this lowly solitude 
Forgotten — undeplored. 



197 



WRITTEN AT SEA. 

When the bark by a gentle breath is driven, 

And the bright sun dances in the heaven 

Up and down, as the rocking boat 

Upon the ridgy waves doth float — 

And the fresh sea sprinkles the sloping deck, 

And nought is seen but some snowy speck 

On the distant verge — and the sky above. 

And the waters around — 'tis sweet to move 

Gladly from one to another strand, 

Guided by some invisible hand. 

Gladly, ay ! for him who leaves 

No friend behind, who dreams, and grieves, 

And dreads that every breezy breath 

Is the wing'd charioteer of death. 

Ah ! that love is a fearful thing ; 
It hovers round on a vampire's wing ; 
Darkness is its abode — it dwells 
In caverns and spectre-peopled cells ; 
'Tis wont to play with phantoms dread. 
And wreathes thd aconite round its head ; 
The desert and the grove it seeks. 
And clouds are on its splendent cheeks ; 
17* 



198 WRITTEN AT SEA. 

And it sits in storms, — and builds its throne 
In terror's dark pavilion ; 
And its bright and spirit-piercing eyes 
Are shrouded in thick anxieties. 

Onwards ! onwards ! — lo, we sweep 
The heaving bosom of the deep ; — 
Freshens the wind ! — how gay to ride 
On the pinions of the eternal tide, 
And to live, as it were, in life's excess, 
'Midst the wild waters' frowardness ! 
It is as if life's currents too, 
Driven by an impulse strange and new, 
Roll'd with a swifter course, — partaking 
Of the eager spirit round us waking. 

But soon, too soon, the busy sea 
Is still'd to us — reality 
Waves over us her leaden wand : 
We tread the dull and changeless land ! 
Our bavk conducts us to the shore. 
And the fresh breeze impels no more ; 
For us repose the joyous waves — 
And we all slumber in our graves. 

Thou Steerer of the storm ! who guiJest 
Our little vessel, — who dividest 
The waves around us, — who hast spread 
Heaven's canopy above our head, 



WRITTEN AT SEA. 199 

And scatter'd through it gales of love, 

To waft us to our port above : 

Thou ! whose omnipotent voice can still 

The mighty ocean as the rill ; 

Thou ! subject vast of praise and wonder, 

Who in the breeze and in the thunder 

Art heard alike — to Thee, O Friend ! 

O Father ! I my lot commend. 

And be it thine, All-wise ! as now, 

A favouring passage to bestow 

Through life's dark ocean — till the tomb 

Receives us in its mighty womb, 

Where we shall slumber till the day, 

Of days the greatest, sends its ray 

Into the gloom sepulchral — then 

Shall the raised spirit live again. 

And enter on a course which never 

Can be disturb'd by vain endeavour. 

Nor check'd by storms or billows dreary, — 

Nor hearts despond — nor hopes be weary. 



200 



"THE WORLD IS GIVEN TO THE WICKED." 

'Tis sometimes hard tx) turn our eye 

Upon that wreck of hopes and dreams. 

Which lighted hours of ecstacy 

With virtue's smiles and freedom's beams, — 

To look upon that wreck — and see 

A very blank of misery. 



For who of mortal mould could e'er 
Bend coldly o'er the aspiring mind, 
That rear'd its visionary temples fair, 
And open'd wide on human kind 
The portals whence the day-streams flow 
Of love and liberty below ? 



Too long, too long the tyrant's might 
Had chill'd the senses — cramp'd the soul — 
Then, waking in their natural light, 
They burst the twilight's dim control, 
And gathering blessings in their train. 
Shed splendour o'er the earth again. 



*' THE WORLD 13 GIVEN TO THE WICKED." 201 

'Tis past ! — 'tis past !*— The spreading shade 

Of ignorance involves the world : 

Our toils were vain — our hopes betray'd — 

And freedom from her shrines is hurl'd : 

She has no heroes — has no heirs — 

The grave is ours — the world is theirs. 

The noblest, holiest of our race 

Die unrevenged — they spill their blood — 

The gay earth is their slaughter-place — 

The vast globe is a solitude, 

Where their all-withering glance destroys 

All virtuous deeds — all righteous joys. 

Great God of vengeance ! rouse Thee — shower 
Thy fiery torrents on their path ! 
They hate Thy name — they scorn Thy power — 
They laugh — proud rebels ! at Thy wrath. 
And dost Thou tarry ? — Canst Thou yet 
Their insults and Thy might forget ? 

Forgive ! forgive ! — Our wishes rove 
Bewilder'd — darken'd by distress — 
As if our passions, Lord ! could move 
Thy all-directing righteousness. 



202 PSALM xc. 

Thou knowest all — Thou rulest all — 
To Thee we look — on Thee we call. 



Wield then Thy thunders at Thy will, 
Thou canst not err — our hearts subdued 
Shall wait thy mandate — calm and still — 
Thy purposes are wise and good. 
Gloom, mists, and clouds surround our way, 
Thou art all light — Thy path is day. 

JVovember, 1823. 



PSALM XC. 



Lord ! through ages-gathering time, 
On Thee, sacred and sublime, 
We have built our joy, our faith ; 
While the mantling robe of death 
Veil'd the unborn mountains, — ere 
This majestic rolling sphere 
Sprung to birth. Thy footsteps trod 
Over time's untravell'd road, 
Ever and eternal God ! 



PSALM xc. 203 

If thou speak, Destruction calls 
Nations to her midnight halls, 
And the dust-born sons of men 
Mingle with the dust again. 
Thousand ages roll away 
In thy sight as yesterday 
When 't is past : — a dream forgot 
With the morning's earliest thought. 

E'en as a mighty torrent sweeps 
The strawy fragment to the deeps ; 
A vision that but comes and goes ; 
Or flowers that with the morning rose. 
And with tlie morning flourished, 
Ere the cold evening faded, dead — 
Beneath thy frown we die : — we die, 
And in the valley's bosom lie. 

O God ! Thy spirit-searching eye 
Reads all thy children's history : 
And sins that seem in distance veil'd, 
And errors in deep shades conceal'd. 
Before Thy penetrating sight 
Blaze in a horrid glare of light. 

Careless of Thy heart-searching frown, 
Our lamp goes out — our life sinks down : 
That lamp is feeble, cheerless, cold ; 
That life a litde history told : 



204 PSALM xc. 

When most enduring it appears, 
And trembling into seventy years, 
Or ten years more — its utmost length 
Is waxing pain and wasting strength, 
Labour and sorrow — then the thread 
Is broken, and the spirit fled. 

But who Thy anger. Lord ! can bear ? 
'Tis greater than a mortal's fear ! 
Its might more terrible than aught 
Of future dread or present ihought. 

O teach us so to count our days, 
So to improve them to thy praise. 
That wisdom may our hearts control. 
And virtue guide our wandering soul. 

Return and smile again — and bend 
Thine ear benignant, Father — Friend ! 
No longer let us dread Thy wrath — 
Send down Thy sunshine on our path. 
And let futurity be blest, 
If not with joy, with peace and rest. 



205 



HABAKKUK. 



CHAP. III. 



I HEARD Thee, and I trembled : — Awful One ! 
Now speak — ^but speak in mercy's mildest tone ; 
Wave o'er the years Thy shadowing wing ; look 

down, 
And let Thy smile burst shining thro' Thy frown. 
From Teman God descends. 
The Holy One from Paran bends — 
Shout ! the song of gladness raise : 
His glories cover 
Heaven's temple over, 
And earth is pregnant with His glorious 
praise ! 
His brightness is an everlasting light. 
And streams of fire burst from His hand of might ; 
The plague, the pestilence, are driven before Him : 
He stands on burning coals, with clouds and va- 
pours o'er Him. 
The earth He measures in His hand ; 
The nations flee at His command ; 
The everlasting mountains bow ; 
The hills are scatter'd wide — and lo ! 
18 



206 HABAKKUK III. 

His path is in eternal darkness deep. 

The tents of Cushan weep ; 

Midian is now in grief array'd, 
And curtain'd round in melancholy shade. 

Lord ! have the rivers disobey 'd Thee, 
That Thou hast thus in frowns array'd Thee ? 
Has the ocean rolled too far, 
That Thou hast mounted Thy glorious car — 

Harness'd Thy mighty steeds ? 
Lord ! Thou hast bent Thy naked bow, 
And we remember Thy promise now : 

Thy judgment now proceeds. 
Lord ! the rivers that seek the sea, 
Roll on their course as led by Thee. 

The mountains trembled as Thou passedst by ; 
And from its bounds broke forth th' o'erflowing 

ocean ; 
The deep sent forth a loud and troubled cry, 
And Hfted up his suppliant hands on high ; 
The sun and moon stood still in deep emotion — 
They saw the light of Thy glittering spear ; 
Thy arrows were flying thickly there — 
Dreadful was Thy march, O Lord ! 
And the heathen fell beneath Thy sword. 



HABAKKUK III. 207 

'Twas for Thy chosen people — the salvation 
Of Thine anointed nation — 

Thou hast upset the wicked in his pride : 
He came forth like a whirlwind to destroy — 
His palace is in dust — and his unholy joy, 
Oppression, is subdued. Thou, Lord ! didst ride 
O'er the great waters : when I heard, I shook — 
How could I in Thy presence stand ? 
How on Thy dazzling brightness look ? 
Voiceless my tongue became, and impotent my 
hand. 

Though the fig-tree should not shoot 
Her wonted blossoms — though the vine. 
Scathed by Thee, should yield no fruit — 
Though the olive fail — the kine 
In the stalls should droop and die ; 
In the folds the fleecy flock : 
Yet the Lord shall be my joy ! 
Yet the Lord shall be my rock ! 
He shall be my hope, my strength, 
My rejoicing shall He be ! 
He will lead my soul at length 
To His own felicity. 



208 
CORINTHIANS, 

FIRST BOOK CHAP. XIII. 

Though every tongue that man e'er utter'd, broke 
From my all-eloquent lips — and though I spoke 
The languages of angels — if my soul 
Were not attuned to love's sweet music, all, 
All were a hollow sound — an idle voice, 
A bell's dull tinkling, or a cymbal's noise. 

Though I could read the books of prophecy ; 
Withdraw the veil of heavenly mystery ; 
Though Science led me through her various way, 
And I had power, power from above, to say, 
* Remove, thou mountain ! ' this were nought, and I 
An useless nothing, without Charity. 

Though thousand wretches crowded round my 
door, 
Relieved, protected by my generous store, — 
Though neither flame nor sword could shake my 

faith, 
A martyr towering o'er the fear of death, — 
I were no offering w^orthy of above, 
Unless supported and impell'd by love. 



1 CORINTHIANS XIII. 209 

Love is long-suffering, generous, candid ; free 
From envy, pride, and self-complacency. 
Benignant and beneficent and mild, 
Pure-hearted and confiding as a child ; 
She mourns the ravages df vice — but sees 
With holy joy Truth's glorious victories. 
All things she bears, with hero-courage bears, 
And trusts to Heaven her pleasures and her cares. 
And hopes that all things hasten on to bliss. 
And all endures, with such sweet hopes as this. 

She never fails — ^the prophet's sacred tongue 
Shall by the hand of ages be unstrung ; 
The wonder-working gifts of heaven shall cease, 
And knowledge perish in forgetfulness 5 
But soon shall better prospects dawn — the ray 
Of twilight brightens into perfect day, 
And weakness, weariness, and gloom, and night, 
Give way to beauty, strength, and joy, and light. 

E'en as a child, in early opening hours. 
Totters and trips, and plies his little powers. 
From his young lips imperfect accents break, 
His thoughts are wandering, and his judgment 

weak ; 
Yet, as his years flow on, intelligence 
Glows in his mind, and winning eloquence 
18* 



210 ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 

Flows from his tongue ; he stands erect, and can 
Glory in all the pride and power of man : — 
So do we journey heavenwards — children here. 
But we shall grow to man's perfection there* 

Our earthly vision is out dark and dim : 
There shall we see in the pure light of Him 
Who is all brightness ; — every mist disperse 
That mantles now the gloomy universe ; 
All perils past, all tears, all terrors o'er, 
And doubt distress, and hope delude, no more. 

There are these angels sent by heaven to guide 
Our earthly barks through time's deceitful tide : 
Faith, Hope, and Charity — benignant three ! 
Charity fairest — follow Charity ! 



ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 

The dreams which early moments deck'd — 
Hope's sunny summer hours, are o'er, 
And my frail bark at last is wreck'd 
On sullen Reason's rocky shore. 



ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 211 

I was a joyous streamlet, tost 
From hill to vale in eager play ; 
And now among the mountains lost, 
Now sweeping o'er the plains my way. 

I kiss'd the flowers, — the woods I taught 
To echo back my song : — 'tis past ! 
Lost in the mighty sea of thought, 
The little streamlet rests at last. 



I trembled to the gentle breeze — 
Sent back the gorgeous sunbeams far ; 
Heard all the moonlight's mysteries. 
And smiled with every smiling star. 

A mingling light of joy and love, 
Of peace and hope a blended sound : 
Heaven's azure arches spread above, 
And laughing Nature all around. 

Ah ! these were blissful moments : yet 
I revel in their memory, 
And present cares and fears forget 
In that departed ecstacy. 



212 ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 

Yes ! they are fled — those hours are fled- 
Yet then* sweet memories smiling come, 
Like spirits of the hallow'd dead, 
And linger round their earlier home. 

Rapt in the thought, my passions seem 
To drink the exhausted cup of bliss : 
And do I dream ? Was ever dream 
So bright, so beautiful as this ? 

Alas ! I hear the thunders roll. 
And wake, and meditate, and weep; 
Night's gloomy mantle wraps my soul, 
And cheerless silence rules the deep. 

I tread my melancholy road. 
No more by vain illusions driven ; 
Hold solemn converse with my God, 
And track my onward way to heaven. 

Then from the world's proud glare I turn 
To yonder bright and golden sky : 
And there I study — thence 1 learn 
The worth of worldly pageantry. 



ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 213 

No more with dazzled eyes I look 
Upon yon vain and letter'd sage : 
For Nature is a gentle book, 
And deeper wisdom fills her page. 



Her groves to me are painted halls ; 
Perfumes, her early morning air ; 
Her mountains, castellated walls — 
And all is honest welcome there. 



Her concerts are of birds and bees, 
And rivers, and the glorious sea : 
And holy are her revelries, 
And pure her joys as thought can be. 



Why should I murmur ? — O'er this scene 
Though night descend and thunders roll, 
Man may create a heaven within ; 
In the still temple of the soul. 



214 



SISTE, VIATOR ! 

Look around thee — see Decay, 
On her wing of darkness, sweeping 
Earth's proud monuments away — 
See the Muse of history weeping 
O'er the ruins Time hath made — 
Strength in dust and ashes laid, 
Virtue in oblivion sleeping. 

Look around thee — Wisdom there 
Careless Death confounds with Folly 
In a common sepulchre : 
See the unrighteous and the holy 
Blended in the general wreck : 
Well those tears may wet thy cheek, 
Tears of doubt and melancholy. 

Look around thee — Beauty's light 
Is extinguish'd, — Death assembles 
Youth's gay morn and age's night, — 
And the steadfast mountain trembles 
At his glance, like autumn's leaf — 
All, he cries, is vain, is brief: 
And the tyrant ne'er dissembles. 



siSTE, viator! 215 

Look behind thee, — cities hid 
In the night of treacherous story : 
Many a crumbling pyramid, 
Many a pile of senseless glory, 
Temples, into ruin hurl'd, 
" Fragments of an earlier world," 
Broken fanes, and altars hoary. 

Look behind thee — men whose frown 
Made whole nations quake before them — 
What is left of their renown ? 
Wrecks around, oblivion o'er them : 
Kings and conquerors, where are they ? 
Ask yon worthless heaps of clay — 
O despise not, but deplore them ! 

Look behind thee — bards sublime, 

Smiling nymphs, and solemn sages — - 

Go ! inquire their names of time : 

Bid it read its earliest pages. 

Foolish questioner ! — If fame 

Guard through years a cherish'd name — 

Fame itself decays in ages. 

Look before thee — all the glare, 
All the pomp, around thee glowing ; 



216 SISTE, VIATOR ! 

All that charms the eye or ear, 
Strains of softest music flowing, 
Grace and beauty — all are sped 
Tow'rds the ruins of the dead : 
Thither thou and thine are going. 

Look before thee — at yon vault, 
Where time's ravage is recorded, 
Thou wilt be compell'd to halt : 
Thou wilt be no more regarded 
Than the meekest, meanest slave, 
Sleeping in a common grave, 
Unrespected — unrewarded. 

Look before thee — at thy feet 
Monarchs sleep like meaner creatures 
Where the voices, now so sweet ? 
Where the fair ones' smiling features ? 
Hopest thou to escape the tomb ? 
That which was thy father's doom. 
Will be thine, thy son's, and nature's. 

Look above thee — there indeed 
May thy thoughts repose delighted ; 



SISTE. VIATOR I 217 

If thy wounded bosom bleed, 
If thy fondest hopes are blighted ; 
There a stream of comfort flows, 
There a sun of splendour glows ; 
Wander, then, no more benighted ! 

Look above thee — ages roll, 
Present, past, and future blending ; 
Earth hath nought to soothe a soul 
'Neath affliction's burden bending. 
Nothing 'gainst the tempest's shock ; 
Heaven must be the pilgrim's rock. 
And to heaven his steps are tending. 

Look above thee — never eye 

Saw such pleasures as await thee ; 

Thought ne'er reach'd such scenes of joy 

As are there prepared to meet thee : 

Light undying. — seraphs' lyres, — 

Angel-welcomes, — cherub-choirs 

Smiling through heaven's doors to greet thee. 



19 



218 



BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. 

The heart has tendrils like the vine. 

Which round another's bosom twine, 

Outspringing from the living tree 

Of deeply-planted sympathy; 

Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss, 

Beneficence its harvest is. 

There are some bosoms dark and drear, 
Which an unwaterM desert are ; 
Yet there a curious eye may trace 
Some smiling spot, some verdant place, 
Where little flowers, the weeds between^ 
Spend their soft fragrance all unseen. 

Despise them not — for wisdom's toil 
Has ne'er disturb'd that stubborn soil : 
Yet care and culture might have brought 
The ore of truth from mines of thought : 
And fancy's fairest flowers had bloom'd 
Where truth and fancy lie entomb'd. 



BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. 219 

Insult him not — his blackest crime 
May, in his Maker's eye sublime, 
In spite of all thy pride, be less 
Than e'en thy daily waywardness ; 
Than many a sin and many a stain 
Forgotten — and impress'd again. 



There is in every human heart 
Some not completely barren part, 
Where seeds of truth and love might grow, 
And flowers of generous virtue blow : 
To plant, to watch, to water there — 
This be our duty, be our care ! 



And sweet it is the growth to trace. 

Of worth, of intellect, of grace. 

In bosoms were our labours first 

Bid the young seed of spring-time burst, 

And lead it on from hour to hour, 

To ripen into perfect flower. 



Hast thou e'er seen a garden clad 
In all the robes that Eden had— 



220 BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. 

Or vale o'erspread with streams and trees, 
A paradise of mysteries — 
Plains with green hills adorning them, 
Like jewels in a diadem ? 



These gardens, vales, and plains, and hills. 
Which beauty gilds and music fills, 
Were once but deserts. Culture's hand • 
Has scatter'd verdure o'er the land. 
And smiles and fragrance rule serene, 
Where barren wilds usurp'd the scene. 



And such is Man. A soil which breeds^ 
Or sweetest flowers or vilest weeds ; 
Flowers lovely as the morning's light, 
Weeds deadly as the aconite ; 
Just as his heart is train'd to bear 
The poisonous weed, or floweret fair. 



221 



SONNET. 



'Tis not Thy terrors, Lord ! Thy dreadful fro^vn, 

Which keep my step in duty's narrow path ; 

'Tis not the awful threatenings of Thy wrath, — 

But that, in Virtue's sacred smile alone 

I find or peace or happiness. Thy light, 

In all its prodigality, is shed 

Upon the worthy and th' unworthy head : 

And Thou dost wrap in misery's stormy night 

The holy as the thankless. All is well : 

Thy wisdom has to each his portion given : 

Why should our hearts by selfishness be riven ? 

'Tis vain to murmur — daring to rebel — 

Lord ! I would fear Thee, though I fear'd not hell 5 

And love Thee, though I had no hopes of heaven.* 



"Aunque no hubiera cielo yo te amara, 
Y aunque no hubiera infiemo te teraiera. 

Santa Teresa. 



19* 



222 



HYMN. 



From the recesses of a lowly spirit 
My humble prayer ascends — O Father ! hear it ! 
Upsoaring on the wings of fear and meekness, 
Forgive its weakness. 



I know, I feel, how mean and how unworthy 
The trembling sacrifice 1 pour before Thee ; 
What can I offer in Thy presence holy, 
But sin and folly ? 



For in thy sight — who every bosom viewest, 
Cold are our warmest vows, and vain our truest-: 
Thoughts of a hurrying hour ; our lips repeat them, 
Our hearts forget them. 



We see Thy hand — it leads us, it supports us ; 
We hear Thy voice — it counsels and it courts us ; 
And then we turn away — and still Thy kindness 
Pardons our blindness. 



HYMN . 



223 



And still Thy rain descends, Thy sun is s^lowing, 
Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blowing, 
And, as if man were some deserving creature, 
Joys cover nature. 

O how long-suffering, Lord ! but Thou delightest 
To win with love the wandering — Thou invitest, 
By smiles of mercy, — not by frowns or terrors, 
Man from his errors. 



Who can resist Thy gentle call — appealing 
To every generous thought, and grateful feeling ? 
That voice paternal — whispering, watching ever. 
My bosom ? — Never. 

Father and Saviour ! plant within that bosom 
These seeds of hohness — and bid them blossom 
n fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal ; 
And spring eternal. 

Then place them in those everlasting gardens, 
Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens ; 
Where every flower that creeps through death's 

dark portal. 
Becomes immortal. 



224 



HYMN. 

If all our hopes and all our fears 
Were prison 'd in life's narrow bound ; 
If, travellers through this vale of tears, 
We saw no better world beyond ; 
O what could check the rising sigh. 
What earthly thing could pleasure give ? 
O who would venture then to die — 
O who could then endure to live ? 

Were life a dark and desert moor, 
Where mists and clouds eternal spread 
Their gloomy veil behind, before. 
And tempests thunder overhead : 
Where not a sunbeam breaks the gloom, 
And not a floweret smiles beneath : 
Who could exist in such a tomb — 
Who dwell in darkness and in death ? 

And such were life, without the ray 
From our divine religion given : 
•Tis this that makes our darkness day ; 
^is tids that makes our earth a heaven. 



DEATH. 225 

Bright is the golden sun above, 
And beautiful the flowers that bloom, 
And all is joy, and all is love, 
Reflected from a world to come. 



DEATH. 



What is it to die ? — -To drink 
Of a yet untasted river 5 
To leap from a yet untrodden brink, 
Which we shall revisit never. 



'Tis to take a journey afar, 

In a cold and murky night, 

Through paths unknown, where moon nor star 

E'er shed a smile of light. 



'Tis to sleep in a clayey cell, 
With corruption for our bride ; 
Deaf, dumb, insensible. 
Waked by no morning's tide. 



226 HYMN. 



"Tis to mingle with ashes and dust, 
Like the meanest thing we see, 
And be blown about by the windy gust, 
Or dissolve in the mighty sea. 



What is it to die ? — 'Tis nought 
But to close the book of care. 
Inter in the grave all troubling thought, 
And rest with oblivion there. 



This is the worst ; for if truth 

Shine in the Scripture page. 

The spirit shall wear the wings of youth, 

And live through an endless age. 

It shall bathe in the living streams 
Round the gardens of heaven that flow ; 
And revel in light, whose dazzling beams 
Disperse all the mists of woe. 



Like a star in a cloudless night. 
Pure and sublime shall it be — 
Fairer than noontide's presence bright-^ 
Fixed as eternity. 



227 



HYMN. 



How dark — how desolate 

Would many a moment be, 

Could we not spring 

On hope's bright wing, 

O God ! to heaven and Thee I 

Life is a prison cell 

We are doom'd to occupy, 
In which confin'd, 
The restless mind 

Pines, pants for liberty. 

And sometimes streaks of light 
And sunny beams we see. 
They shine so bright 
Through sorrow's night. 

They needs must come from Thee. 

Say, shall a morning dawn- 
When prison-days are o'er, 
Whose smiling ray 
Shall wake a day. 
That night shall cloud no more ? 



228 HYMN. 

Blest hope ! and sure as blest ; 
Life's shades of misery 
Shall soon be past, 
And joy at last 

Waft us to heaven and Thee. 



HYMN. 



Why should dreams so dark and dreary 

Fill my thought ? 

Is there nought, 
Nought to soothe and bless the weary ? 
Night may wrap the arch of heaven — 

Soon a ray, 

Bright with day. 
Cheers the morn and gilds the even. 



I have seen tlie mountain hidden 

In a shroud — 

Mist and cloud ; 
Say, was hope or joy forbidden ? 



HYMN. 229 

No ! — ^I knew its summit hoary 

Soon would rise, 

'Midst the skies, 
Girt with green and crown'd with glory. 



Many a stream with song of gladness, 

Many a rill, 

Silent, still. 
Winter binds in chains of sadness ; 
Many a waterfall and river ; — 

Summer's wand 

Breaks their band, 
And their music ceases never. 



Is the sun in heaven no longer, 

When the rain 

Sweeps the plain ? 
Soon he blazes brighter — stronger. 
Is the floweret's sleep eternal. 

When its cup, 

Folded up. 
Waits the smiles and breezes vernal ? 
20 



230 HVMN. 

Why should man, then — child of sorrow ! 

Mourn his doom ? 

Present gloom 
Will be light and bliss to-morrow. 
Why should man, then, bound his vision 

To the cell 

Where we dwell ? 
Worlds are his — and worlds elysian. 



Even here all pain is fleeting ; 

Even here, 

Joy and care 
Join in constant, earnest greeting ; 
But where all our hopes are tending, 

Peace and love 

Reign above — ' 
Bliss unbroken — joy unending. 



231 



HYMN. 



LET my trembling soul be still, 
While darkness veils this mortal eye, 
And wait Thy wise, Thy holy will : 
Wrapt yet in fears and mystery, 

1 cannot. Lord ! Thy purpose see ; 
Yet all is well — since ruled by Thee. 



When, mounted on Thy clouded car. 

Thou send'st Thy darker spirits down, 

I can discern Thy light afar. 

Thy Hght sweet beaming through Thy frown ) 

And, should I faint a moment — then 

I think of Thee, — and smile again. 



So trusting in Thy love, I tread 

The narrow path of duty on : 

What though some cherish'd joys are fled ? 

What though some flattering dreams are gone 

Yet purer, brighter joys remain : 

Why should my spirit, then, complain ? 



23^ 



HYMN. 



In the dust I 'm doom'd to sleep, 
But shall not sleep for ever; 
Fear may for a moment weep, 
Christian courage — never. 
Years in rapid course shall roll. 
By lime's chariot driven, 
And my re-awaken'd soul 
Wing its flight to heaven. 



What though o'er my mortal tomb 
Clouds and mists be blending ? 
Sweetest hopes shall chase the gloom-j 
Hopes to heaven ascending. 
These shall be my stay, my trust, 
Ever bright and vernal ;- — 
Life shall blossom out of dust, 
Life and joy eternal. 



233 



HYMN. 



1 HAVE seen the morning vapour 
Scatter'd by the eye of day ; 
I have seen the evening taper 
Shine, and glimmer, and decay ; 
And bethought me, as I stood. 
These are man's similitude. 



Man is like a vapour flying 
With the twilight o'er the dell ; 
Man is hke a pale lamp dying 
In its solitary cell — 
Light and shade — and ill and good- 
Such is man's vicissitude. 



Man is like a vapour, blending 
With the dew of morning's breath ; 
Man is like a pale lamp tending 
To its melancholy death : 
Neither spared by whirlwinds rude- 
Such is man's similitude. 
20* 



234 

HYMN. 

Jesus Teaching the People. 

How sweetly flow'd the gospel's sound 
From lips of gentleness and grace, 

When listening thousands gather'd round, 
And joy and reverence filPd the place ! 

From heaven he came — of heaven he spoke, 
To heaven he led his followers' way } 

Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke, 
Unveiling an immortal day. 

" Come, wanderers, to my Father's h'ome, 
" Come, all ye weary ones and rest ! " 

Yes ! sacred Teacher, — we will come — 
Obey thee, — love thee and be blest ! 

Decay then, tenements of dust ! 

Pillars of earthly pride, decay ! 
A nobler mansion waits the just. 

And Jesus has prepared the way. 



235 



HYMN TO THE DEITY. 

*• There is no sound or language where their voice is not heard." 

The heavenly spheres to Thee, O God I attune 

their evening hymn, 
All-wise, All-holy, Thou art praised in song of 

seraphim ; 
Unnumber'd systems, suns, and Vvorids, unite to 

worship Thee. 
While Thy majestic greatness fills space — time — ■ 

eternity. 



Nature, — a temple worthy Thee, that beams with 

light and love, 
Whose flowers so sweetly bloom below, whose 

stars rejoice above ; 
Whose altars are the mountain cliffs that rise along 

the shore. 
Whose anthems, the sublime accord of storm and 

ocean roar : 



236 HYMN TO THE DEITY. 

Her song of gratitude is sung by spring's awaken- 
ing hours, 

Her summer offers at Thy shrine its earliest, love- 
liest flowers ; 

Her autumn brings its ripen'd fruits, in glorious 
luxury given, 

While winter's silver heights reflect Thy brightness 
back to heaven ! 



On all Thou smil'st — and what is man, before Thy 

presence, God? 
A breath but yesterday inspired, — to-morrow but 

a clod : 
That clod shall moulder in the vale, — till kindled, 

Lord, by Thee, 
Its spirit to Thy arms shall spring — to life, — to 

liberty. 



237 



AN ASPIRATION. 

If 'twere but to retire from woe, 
To undisturb'd, eternal rest — 

How passing sweet to sleep below, 

On nature's fair and flowery breast ! 

But when faith's finger points on high, 
From death's decaying, dismal cell ; 

O, 'tis a privilege to die — 

To dream of bliss ineffable ! 



In balmy sleep our eyes to close. 

When life's last sunshine gilds our even ; 
And then to wake from long repose, 

When dawns the glorious day of heaven ' 



238 



TRANSLATION. 

Brightest of spirits ! proudly throned on high, 
'Midst the gold flames that flash from star and 

sun, 
In the wide deserts of th' ethereal sky — ■ 
Th' Incomprehensible, Almighty One ! 
Dart the pure radiance of Thy presence down 
On this benighted vale ; — to mortal eye 
Display the splendours of Thy majesty. 
And open all the glories of Thy throne. 
Ages of old Thee recognised, — though seen 
Dimly amidst Thy works : — and man upraised 
Temples and altars to Thy shadowed name. 
A God, a Father all Thy works proclaim, 
Who4s, and shall be, and hath ever been. 
Though veil'd in darkness, and in silence praised ! 

Pellegrino Gaudenzi. 



239 

TRANSLATION. 

GOD. 

Creating — uncreated energy ! 
Who rul'st and govern'st all that Thou hast made ; 
Whose firm and everlasting feet are staid 
On changeless fate — time and eternity ! — 
Thou givest light to morn — to evening shade ! 
Directest earth and heaven's high majesty ! 
Unseen, unsway'd, — all seen, all sway'd by Thee ! 
Unmoved, yet moving all, — by all obey'd ! 
Present in every place, — confined to none ! 
Vice trembles, Virtue smiles beneath Thy power ; 
Thou mad'st the blazing beam, the white frost hoar. 
Thou only in Thyself art seen and known. 
Being that I know not — yet, unknown, adore — 
Thou only God ! — Thou art thyself alone ! 

Salvini. 



^40 

HYMN. 

He who walks in Virtue's way, 

Firm and fearless, walketh surely ; 
Diligent while yet 'tis day. 

On he speeds, and speeds securely. 
Flowers of peace beneath him grow, 

Suns of pleasure brighten o'er him ; 
Memory's joys behind him go, 

Hope's sweet angels fly before him. 

Thus he moves from stage to stage, 

Smiles of earth and heaven attending ; 
Softly sinking down in age, 

And at last to death descending. 
Cradled in its quiet deep, 

Calm as Summer's loveliest even, 
He shall sleep the hallow'd sleep ; 

Sleep, that is o'erwatch'd by Heaven. 

Till that day of days shall come. 

When th' archangel's trumpet breaking 
Through the silence of the tomb, 

All its prisoners awaking ; 
He shall hear the thundering blast. 

Burst the chilling bands that bound him ; 
To the throne of glory haste, 

All Heaven's splendours opening round him. 



241 



HYMN. 



When before Thy throne we kneel, 

Fill'd with awe and holy fear, 
Teach us, O our God, to feel 

All Thy sacred presence near. 
Check each proud and wandermg thought 

When on Thy great name we call ; 
Man is nought — is less than nought : 

Thou, our God, art all in all. 



Weak, imperfect creatures, we 

In this vale of darkness dwell ; 
Yet presume to look to Thee, 

'Midst Thy light ineffable. 
O forgive the praise that dares 

Seek Thy heaven-exalted throne ; 
Bless our offerings, hear our prayers. 

Infinite and Holy One ! 
21 



242 



TO A VIOLET. 

Sweet flower ! Spring's earliest, loveliest gem ! 

While other flowers are idly sleeping 
Thou rear'st thy purple diadem ; 

Meekly from thy seclusion peeping. 

Thou, from thy little secret mound, 

Where diamond dew-drops shine above thee, 
Scatterest thy modest fragrance round ; 

And well may Nature's Poet love thee ! 

Yes 1 I have envied thee, sweet flower ! 

And long'd like thee to live obscurely : 
Shelter'd in some benignant bower, 

And breathing forth my soul so purely. 

Thine is a short, swift reign I know — 

But here, — thy spirit still pervading — 

New violet tufts again shall blow. 

Then fade away — as thou art fading, 

And be renew'd ; the hope how blest, 
(O may that hope desert me never !) 

Like thee to sleep on nature's breast, 

And wake again, and bloom for ever ! 



243 



HYMN. 



Father and Friend ! Thy light, Thy love 
Beaming through all Thy works we see ; 

Thy glory gilds the heavens above, 
And all the earth is full of Thee. 

Thy voice we hear — Thy presence feel, 
Whilst thou, too pure for mortal sight, 

Involved in clouds — invisible, 

Reignest the Lord of life and light. 

We know not in what hallow'd part 

Of the wide heavens Thy throne may be ; 
But this we know, that where Thou art, 

Strength, wisdom, goodness dwell with Thee. 

And through the various maze of time, 
And through th' infinity of space, 

We follow Thy career sublime, 

And all thy wondrous footsteps trace. 

Thy children shall not faint nor fear, 

Sustain'd by this delightful thought. 

Since Thou, their God, art every where. 
They cannot be where Thou art not. 



244 



HYMN. 

The offerings to Thy throne which rise, 
Of mingled praise and prayer ; 

Are but a worthless sacrifice 
Unless the heart is there. 

Upon Thy all-discerning ear 

Let no vain words intrude : 

No tribute — but the vow sincere, — 
The tribute of the good. 

My offerings will indeed be blest, 

If sanctified by Thee ; 
If Thy pure spirit touch my breast 

With its own purity. 

O may that spirit warm my heart 

To piety and love ; 
And to life's lowly vale impart 

Some rays from heaven above. 



245 



PERSECUTION. 



Let those who doubt the heavenly source 

Of revelation's page divine, 

Use as their weapons fraud and force — 

No such unhallow'd arms are mine. 

I only wield its holy word — 

Reason its shield, and truth its sword. 



I doubt not : — My religion stands 
A beacon on the eternal rock, — 
Let malice throw her fiery brands ; 
Its sacred fane has stood the shock 
Of ages — and shall tower sublime 
Above the waves and winds of time. 



Infinite wisdom form'd the plan ; 
Infinite power supports the pile ; 
Infinite goodness pour'd on man 
Its radiant light — its cheering smile. 
Need they thy aid ? — poor worm ! — thy aid ! 
O mad presumption — vain parade ! 
21* 



i246 PERSECUTION. 

Thou wilt not trust th' Almighty One 
With his own thunders — thou wouldst throw 
The bolts of heaven I — O senseless son 
Of dust and darkness ! — Spider ! go, 
And with thy cobweb bind the tide, 
And the swift, dazzling comet guide. 

Yes ! force has conquering reasons given. 
And chains and tortures ar£:ue well, — 
And thou hast proved thy faith from heaven, 
By weapons thou hast brought from hell. 
Yes ! thou hast made thy title good. 
For thou hast sign'd the deed with blood. 

Daring impostor ! sure that God 

Whose advocate thou feign'st to be, 

Will smite thee with that awful rod 

Which thou wouldst seize — and pour on thee 

The vial of that wrath, which thou 

Wouldst empty on thy brother's brow. 



247 



RETIREMENT. 

Happy is he who knows not solitude I 
The hour when to the world he seen:is alone 
Is spent with God ! — All cares, all passions lost 
In most sublime abstraction. Then his soul, 
Too joyous to be bound to earth, upsoars 
And wings its glorious passage to an orb 
Beyond philosophy's proud ken, — the throne 
Where the Divinity sits clad in light. 
And gives his spirit welcome ! he forgets 
That he is wrapt in mortal clay — becomes 
A presence all ethereal, lifts his eye 
Undazzled tow'rds the smiles of heavenly love, 

And takes his seat with angels. 

O the ineffable beatitude. 
Could it but last ! — But no ! too soon opprest 
With the vast blessedness, and dragg'd, alas ! 
By mortal weakness from its height of joy, 
The soul sinks down to this substantial world. 
And is a clod again ! 



248 



SONNET. 

'' Peace ! " shall the world out-wearied ever see 
Its universal reign ? Will states, will kings, 
Put down those murderous and unholy things 
Which fill the earth with blood and misery ? 
Will nations learn that love — not enmity — 
Is Heaven's first lesson — which, beneath the wings 
Of mercy, brooding over land and sea, 
Fills earth with joy, by its soft ministerings ? 
'Twere a sad prospect— 'twere a vista dark 
As midnight — could this wearied mortal eye. 
Through the dim mists that veil futurity. 
Discern not that heaven-bright though distant spark, 
Li2;hted by prophecy — whose ray sublime 
Sheds a soft gleam of hope o'er the dull path of 
time. 



249 



SONNET. 



I HATE that noisy drum ! — It is a sound 

That 's full of war and bondage, — and 1 blush 

That liberty had ever cause to rush 

Into a warrior's arms — that right e'er found 

Asylum in the furious field. Not so 

The holy crowns of genuine glory grow — 

Not there should they who bear the badge serene 

Of him who was the Prince of Peace be seen. 

Can such his faithful followers be ? — O no ! 

His laurels are not drench'd in blood, — but green 

And beautiful as spring : — His arms are love 

And mercy and forgiveness ; — and with these 

He rules the nations' mighty destinies — 

And gently leads us to our homes above. 



250 



SONNET. 



From time to time there is a warning voice 
Which, in the various shapes of grief and pain 
And disappointment, gives us hopes, not vain, 
That, shelter'd from this mean world's turbulent 

noise. 
We shall repose in silence — or rejoice 
In living blessedness — where all the train 
Of mortal sorrows enter not — and reign 
Where pleasure never wanes and never cloys. 
And these are lovely hopes — and these alone 
Help us the burden of our woes to bear, — 
While we press forward to yon yet-veil'd throne, 
Whose twilight brightness we just see — and hear 
The music that surrounds it. Here we groan — 
But not a sigh or tear was ever there. 



251 

SATURDAY NIGHT. 

The week is past ! — its latest ray- 
Is vanish'd with the closing day ; 
And 'tis as far beyond our grasp, 
Its now departed hours to clasp, 
As to recall that moment bright, 
When first creation sprung to light. 

The week is past ! And has it brought 
Some beams of sweet and soothing thought ? 
And has it left some memory dear 
Of heavenly raptures tasted here ? 
It has not wing'd its flight in vain, 
Although it ne'er return again. 

And who would sigh for its return ? 
We are but pilgrims, born to mourn ; 
And moments, as they onward flow, 
Cut short the thread of human woe. 
And bring us nearer to the scenes 
Where sorrows end and heaven begins. 

THE END. 



> 7 d f) 



.r°. 



rQ' 



-i -^ 



t; 



^OO 



^Bi^^j. •%. v^' 



.-^ 



ss* 



^ .V^$S:c>,v 



-f . o. 



,0o. 






r,.^^^vx-^ 




.^^ ^^- 



o^' 






.♦^' 










y 


c^ 




V , 




■<^'- 




f " -^^ 


% 




s" .V^' 


^' 


■J 






^0 




^ 







5" 



■^.. 



S^o. 



^-.^ 



A\" 






Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnoIogies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 






axV -^^ 



'fK 



ON c^^^.^^ 





: %/ 







- ,^■V>£.<^'^^ J' ^"° '"'<'■ 

s,\' ' ' - <;>C* (^ v^ 









'. -^'^-^ ^v -^^ 






% 


'^ 


^^ 


,^' 


^^>. 

'^c^ 




c«^ 


' * 


\" 






?-_ ' « 1 A - ^'^^ ^ , ^_ 't^. * .0 s ^ 



■^. 



" ^^ 









,f^"^^-".,'*/% .^■^^' ■""= 



'<:. c^^ 



'i; S" ^- -,^v;-ci> 









c.^ 'V*. 



LIBRARY 




